Friday, May 25, 2007
Dumping TWOD: a cautionary tale
As I've mentioned repeatedly on this blog, I haven't been in a monogamous relationship since 2004. Mostly this is because I value my freedom (to fuck whoever I want whenever I want), my independence, and my personal space. I like to sit around drinking beer in my underwear and nothing else watching "Deadliest Catch," and I don't need some dude bitching at me about it. I don't want for sex (plenty of hoes and vibrators in my stable), love (I'm very close to friends and family), or affection (I have dogs). Most people do not feel this way and seem to want regular companionship, and actively pursue or are in serious relationships. In some cases, their relationships leave much to be desired, and when observing this, my single status gets all the validation it needs. I'd rather die alone than beside someone who doesn't appreciate or understand me, and I've learned this from experience.
There is another reason why I've stayed single, and that is because my ex-boyfriend was so certifiably fucking crazy that I still sometimes have dreams that I'm still dating him and wake up in a cold sweat. I don't know why I went out with him for four entire months. I like to attribute my extremely poor judgment concerning him to his reliance on black magic, santeria, or some other form of fell witchcraft to hoodwink me into not dumping him long before I did. The truth is that he plied me with steak, scotch, and magical dust extracted from the leaves of the coca plant, but I like to delude myself into thinking that it was because he resorted to the black arts.
I should have known he was bad news from the moment we started dating. At first, there was nothing terribly sinister, but in hindsight there were a number of warning signs from whence I should have not walked but RUN away as fast and as far as possible: he wore a Madonna t-shirt, he was proud of the fact that his name (Tod) was spelled with only one D, he liked to randomly make out with his male friends in front of me, he made fun of me for not being as good at math as him, etc. Tod with one D, or TWOD, as he shall be known henceforth, was a terrible fucking boyfriend, and I should have realized this long before I actually took action about it.
TWOD and I met through our mutual friend Multiple Scorgasms, who thought we would hit it off. We both like to drink and pull a variety of scandalous hijinks for the purpose of amusing people, so this was a reasonable expectation on her part. One night, we all went out for drinks. I brought FalloniusMonk as a wingman in case I needed an excuse to bail, and to get her sage opinion of him. He was tall, dressed snappily, well-groomed, and complimented me for all the right things, like my fondness for combining big words with crude profanity and my prowess at drinking scotch. I remember thinking that he was funny. I drank even more scotch, and subsequently decided to propose that we make the beast with two backs all night long. He accepted my proposition, and I was pleased to see that his weiner was relatively resistant to alcohol, and it was a decent size.
Initially, I told him my anti-relationship policy, and he played his hand accordingly. He didn't overcall me, he acted like my presence was a privilege that he genuinely appreciated, made a real effort to amuse and impress my friends, and insisted on paying for everything wherever we went. The next thing I knew, I was relenting on my avowed bachelorettehood, and agreed not to fuck anyone else.
Things started to go awry after about a month. Three main things happened that turned the tide of my opinion, and I should have just cashed in then. First, we were hanging out with his "friend" (actually his drug buddy) at TWOD's apartment, and this dashing fellow stole my debit card out of my purse when I was in the bathroom and charged a bunch of Metrocards to it. I called up TWOD and told him, and he said, "Oh, yeah, I figured he would do something like that. Jimmy steals things. He once stole $300 out of my wallet when I was passed out." I was baffled that TWOD would remain friends with an unrepentant thief, but at the time did not recognize it for what it was: a major malfunction in his ability to make sound judgments. At the time, however, I told him that Jimmy Sticky Fingers better not come anywhere near me again, and left it at that. Strike two occurred about a week later, when we went back to his apartment after a night out, and I wanted to have sex. He wanted to, but said that he couldn't. When I inquired as to why not, he informed me that earlier that day, he was jacking off and ran out of lube. I was like, "You need lube to beat off?" Apparently he needed such copious quantities that not having it was not an option for him, and he was too lazy to walk downstairs to the Duane Reade and buy more, so he used shampoo. His dick turned red and scaly, and looked like it had been scalded in a pot of boiling water. It was gross. I was sympathetic then, but soon realized that this was indicative of his compulsive masturbation problem. He was an electrical engineer and worked from home designing cell phone chips, and spent a lot more of his day beating off than engineering circuitry. I like to rub one off as much as the next sexually healthy human being, but when you exit online meetings with your boss prematurely and without warning to damage your dick by whacking off with detergent, you've got a problem. The third incident was the most egregious of all. He told me he loved me after less than a month. I don't like people who flippantly drop the L-bomb. My ex-boyfriend Benzo, who is the polar opposite of TWOD in almost every way, took six months to say it, and that was because he really did love me and didn't want to go there until he was sure of it. I appreciated and admired his restraint and honesty. TWOD just decided that a month was a good enough time as any to start ending our phone calls with "I love you" (to which I'd respond with something vague, like "right back atcha" or "uh huh, yeah, you too.")
After he started saying "love", he clearly started feeling more comfortable around me, and his true craziness emerged in full force. He started picking fights with me in public places because "it's funny." These weren't playful fights; they were verbally abusive geysers of nasty mean-spiritedness that would erupt from him whenever he felt bored. He would call me fat and/or dumb, and then laugh when I'd respond negatively, which infuriated me more. He also would go on long tirades about what a waste of time a Ph.D is, and suggest that my career was an exercise in futility, which enraged me. Then, every time I would almost dump him, he would start apologizing profusely and CRYING. I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't just tell him to save it for his shrink and walk out then, but I'd always convince myself that it wasn't a very big deal and he really was sorry. Man, I didn't realize how fucked up this relationship actually was unti I just wrote that down.
TWOD was also a social liability. While he was usually pleasant to my friends, he'd pull shit where I would literally want to sink into the ground and disappear, and being that I have no shame, that's a tall order. One time, we were on the subway, and he announced loudly, "I fucking hate Jews. Greedy fucking kikes." Everyone on the crowded train immediately took notice and stared at us resentfully. It does not help that with my Scandinavian features, I look like I'd fit right in at a white supremacy rally. Horrified, I said, "What the fuck are you talking about? Why would you say something like that?" He laughed, and said, "Racism is hilarious." I gaped at him. "No, it's not!" He gestured to everyone around him, and said, "Look, I got everyone's attention." I responded, "Yeah, because they all think you're an anti-semitic Nazi asshole! That's not funny...it's EMBARRASSING. I don't want anyone thinking that I'm with you or, God forbid, agreeing with you." Yet another opportunity to unload his dead weight came, and for some reason I let it pass me by and continued dating him.
All these incidents did subtly change the way I thought about him. I stopped noticing positive things about him, and started paying much more attention to his negative attributes. Pretty soon, everything about him drove me crazy. I hated his spartan apartment. I hated the fact that he drank vodka sodas with a splash of cranberry. I hated his taste in television. I hated the way he moaned girlishly during sex. I hated his cum face. I hated the fact that he slept until four every day, and then took another nap at six, and then made fun of me for my diurnal schedule. I hated his wardrobe (in addition to his Madonna t-shirt, he also had this purple ruffled number that he wore out one time to meet my friend Wmania, and I told him in no uncertain terms that I'm cool with many things, but dating a gay pirate is not one of them). I especially hated his whining. Because of his compulsive need for sex, he would constantly pester me for it. Anyone I've ever dated and/or slept with and/or hung out with can tell you that I have a voracious appetite for fucking, so it's not like I wasn't giving it up. I was putting out several times a day. I LOVE getting laid. However, there's nothing that will kill your libido quicker than having your boyfriend show up in frilly girl clothes and wheedle "Can we PLEEEEEASE make love?" The way he phrased it made me immediately respond with "Ugh! No!" because it was such an unbelievable turnoff. Then he'd bitch to everyone who'd listen that I was a big prude and not the wanton slut I claimed to be, and pout about it. No matter how many times I explained that his method of initiating sex was the problem, he'd accuse me of being a bad girlfriend who didn't attend to his needs. It was all my fault.
Furthermore, I also became aware of the extent of his drug problem at this time. In addition to seeking help from an ear, nose, and throat specialist for his deviated septum, there were vials of cocaine all over his apartment. I'd go to get a fork out of his kitchen drawer and find yet another of his many stashes. He'd call me and say, "Come over and we'll order pizza and watch Romancing the Stone and have a quiet night in," and I'd get there and he'd be coked out of his mind and masturbating furiously, then imperiously demand blowjobs for the rest of the night. I'd usually comply, but he would want these epic, hour-long blowjobs without reciprocation, and I would lose patience with that very quickly. After twenty minutes or so, which is a long time to give head without a break, my mandibular joint would be aching and I'd be like, "Okay, it's my turn now," and he would start whining abusively. "But I want more head! I want MORE! You are such a prude! You are a selfish lover! You NEVER suck my dick." It was so unfair, especially since due to the inordinate amount of blow he was doing, he couldn't fuck me properly to thank me for spending so much time sucking him off and then tolerating his complaints about how a thirty minute BJ is chintzy and prudish. This behavior increased proportionally with the amount of cocaine that entered his nose, and it grew both tiresome and alarming.
Toward the end of our relationship, I invited TWOD to accompany me to the P-N-Dub for my brother's college graduation. I warned him ahead of time that this would entail lots of quality family time and not much sightseeing, so he shouldn't come if he wants to spend the whole time going up in the Space Needle or taking the Seattle Underground Tour. I also warned him that my mother isn't cool with me sleeping in the same room as my boyfriend, because she's very uncomfortable with anything having to do with my sexuality. He gave me a long song and dance about how much he wanted to meet my family, and that this would be fine. Our first night, we went to eat oysters in Seattle, had sex in my parents' car, and had a generally nice time. The second day, we went to my aunt's house for dinner and I thought he was quiet, but well-behaved. Then we went to the Roadhouse with MillerTime and he perked up considerably, in spite of the looks he got for ordering his decidedly feminine signature drink and his vocal outrage that the Roadhouse, an establishment known for its wide selection of pull tabs and its heated smoking porch, didn't stock the bar with Ketel One. The next day was my brother Lil' Tevie's graduation, and all his attempts at conducting himself like an adult went out the window. He spent the entire commencement complaining loudly to my entire family about how long and boring it was (and Lil' Tevie's ceremony lasted an hour and a half...in contrast, my Smith graduation involved bagpipes and long speeches from vagina ashtray-sculpting feminist artists, and lasted FOUR hours). Then at the party for Lil' Tevie at my parents' house, he was rude to all my relatives, told Lil' Tevie that "teaching is stupid" (my brother is a teacher), and decided to take a nap on top of the guests' coat pile. He actually got mad when one of my cousins was about to leave and he had to wake up and move so that she could extract her coat and purse from beneath him. The entire flight back to New York, we were fighting about this.
"That whole trip was boring. I wanted to spend more time in Seattle!"
"I told you it wasn't going to be a sightseeing trip, TWOD. You said that was fine!"
"We didn't do ANYTHING except hang out with your family. I thought I was going to die from boredom."
"You are thirty-one years old. I would think that by this point in your life, that you realize that sometimes you have to do things that you don't want to do. Since you obviously haven't, GROW UP and realize it!"
There were five hours of this on the way back to New York, and I was gearing up to dump him as he stuck me with the $80 cab fare from JFK to each of our apartments, but he escaped before I could deliver the death blow. I think he realized what was coming because for the next week and a half, he acted like a prince. He told me that he was quitting drugs, asked for my support, took me out to dinner several times, and was surprisingly well-behaved. I was suspicious, but thought that maybe he was really going to change, and convinced myself that I'd be a really shitty person if I didn't help this man who claimed to love me when he needed it most. He seemed motivated, and I thought that perhaps he could remind me why I ever liked him in the first place. He said he was going to get a dog, and asked if he could dogsit Chingy! one weekend to give pet ownership a trial run.
The trial was quickly terminated. I had to go pick up Chingy! on that Saturday because the night before, TWOD fed him a Wendy's Frostie, which combines two potent dog poisons: dairy and chocolate. Chingy! was sick and shitting everywhere. I fucked TWOD, collected Chingy!, and walked with TWOD back to the subway. On the way, TWOD picked a fight with me about whatever, and it got progressively heated as we approached the A train station on 14th and 8th Avenue. "Why do you always do this? I thought things were going better for us, and now you pull this? What is your fucking problem?" I asked. "Why don't you go home and settle down and we can discuss this later like adults?"
And then he committed his most unacceptable act of bullshit offensiveness, in one swift, cheap shot. There's one thing I don't discuss on this blog (my membership in what I call "the clinic club"), because it doesn't sit well with me to this day, and I have a lot of complex and unpleasant feelings concerning it. However, he felt that to win this argument, he'd go ahead and break it out. It was the debating equivalent of dropping a nuclear bomb on our argument.
"Why don't YOU go have another abortion and cry about it, you dumb bitch?"
I felt like he'd kicked me in the twat. I was apoplectic with rage to the point where I could not even speak. Not trusting myself not to murder him with my bare hands right there, I gathered up my Chingy! and marched onto the subway. I rode all the way back uptown fuming and fantasizing about smashing him in the face with a pickaxe. I didn't take his calls for the next three days. There was no apology sufficient to rectify this.
Prior to this incident, we had plans for dinner the next week, and I finally decided to pick up the phone when he called that afternoon. He acted like nothing had happened, and wanted to know if I was in the mood for sushi or steak. "We need to have a discussion," I said. "I'll come over and we can talk."
He paused. "Are you going to break up with me?"
"Yes," I said.
"Then don't bother coming over. I don't need to see you if you're just going to dump me."
"Well, at least I can thank you for saving me the trip. Have a nice life."
I hung up and did a fucking jig, I was so happy to be free of his dead weight. In the weeks following, he proceeded to start his own website, which is mercifully no longer polluting the internets. His home page featured a picture of him shoving a dildo up his ass, and the site consisted mainly of transcripts of instant message fights between the two of us, and the ex-girlfriend he briefly reconciled with after I was done with him. There were also a number of incoherent paragraphs about his deep and abiding love for cocaine. If I ever needed validation for my decision to finally sever ties, that website was it.
The entire episode with TWOD taught me one very important lesson: when in doubt, dump that fucktard. I should have dropped his bitch ass the second I first realized that his "ohhhh! OH!" orgasmic squealing irritated me. I should have dropped his bitch ass the first time he ever questioned my intellect, or called me a name, or even showed hints of treating me shabbily. Those are four months I will never get back, when I could have been spending more time with my friends and enjoying myself. I will never make that mistake again, and if any good can come out of the TWOD shitshow, it's that maybe people in similar situations will heed my advice to get out NOW. Life is too short to spend sitting on a dick that doesn't appreciate you, respect you, or understand you. Breaking up is hard to do, but it's SO worth it to remember what it's like living life on your own terms. Don't waste your time with undeserving losers who think they can make up for being a raging asshole with sushi and an insincere "sorry" or two, because once you've taken them back, they'll just reoffend in a way that's logarithmically worse. The TWODs of the world are not remotely worth it, not even a little bit.
There is another reason why I've stayed single, and that is because my ex-boyfriend was so certifiably fucking crazy that I still sometimes have dreams that I'm still dating him and wake up in a cold sweat. I don't know why I went out with him for four entire months. I like to attribute my extremely poor judgment concerning him to his reliance on black magic, santeria, or some other form of fell witchcraft to hoodwink me into not dumping him long before I did. The truth is that he plied me with steak, scotch, and magical dust extracted from the leaves of the coca plant, but I like to delude myself into thinking that it was because he resorted to the black arts.
I should have known he was bad news from the moment we started dating. At first, there was nothing terribly sinister, but in hindsight there were a number of warning signs from whence I should have not walked but RUN away as fast and as far as possible: he wore a Madonna t-shirt, he was proud of the fact that his name (Tod) was spelled with only one D, he liked to randomly make out with his male friends in front of me, he made fun of me for not being as good at math as him, etc. Tod with one D, or TWOD, as he shall be known henceforth, was a terrible fucking boyfriend, and I should have realized this long before I actually took action about it.
Initially, I told him my anti-relationship policy, and he played his hand accordingly. He didn't overcall me, he acted like my presence was a privilege that he genuinely appreciated, made a real effort to amuse and impress my friends, and insisted on paying for everything wherever we went. The next thing I knew, I was relenting on my avowed bachelorettehood, and agreed not to fuck anyone else.
Things started to go awry after about a month. Three main things happened that turned the tide of my opinion, and I should have just cashed in then. First, we were hanging out with his "friend" (actually his drug buddy) at TWOD's apartment, and this dashing fellow stole my debit card out of my purse when I was in the bathroom and charged a bunch of Metrocards to it. I called up TWOD and told him, and he said, "Oh, yeah, I figured he would do something like that. Jimmy steals things. He once stole $300 out of my wallet when I was passed out." I was baffled that TWOD would remain friends with an unrepentant thief, but at the time did not recognize it for what it was: a major malfunction in his ability to make sound judgments. At the time, however, I told him that Jimmy Sticky Fingers better not come anywhere near me again, and left it at that. Strike two occurred about a week later, when we went back to his apartment after a night out, and I wanted to have sex. He wanted to, but said that he couldn't. When I inquired as to why not, he informed me that earlier that day, he was jacking off and ran out of lube. I was like, "You need lube to beat off?" Apparently he needed such copious quantities that not having it was not an option for him, and he was too lazy to walk downstairs to the Duane Reade and buy more, so he used shampoo. His dick turned red and scaly, and looked like it had been scalded in a pot of boiling water. It was gross. I was sympathetic then, but soon realized that this was indicative of his compulsive masturbation problem. He was an electrical engineer and worked from home designing cell phone chips, and spent a lot more of his day beating off than engineering circuitry. I like to rub one off as much as the next sexually healthy human being, but when you exit online meetings with your boss prematurely and without warning to damage your dick by whacking off with detergent, you've got a problem. The third incident was the most egregious of all. He told me he loved me after less than a month. I don't like people who flippantly drop the L-bomb. My ex-boyfriend Benzo, who is the polar opposite of TWOD in almost every way, took six months to say it, and that was because he really did love me and didn't want to go there until he was sure of it. I appreciated and admired his restraint and honesty. TWOD just decided that a month was a good enough time as any to start ending our phone calls with "I love you" (to which I'd respond with something vague, like "right back atcha" or "uh huh, yeah, you too.")
After he started saying "love", he clearly started feeling more comfortable around me, and his true craziness emerged in full force. He started picking fights with me in public places because "it's funny." These weren't playful fights; they were verbally abusive geysers of nasty mean-spiritedness that would erupt from him whenever he felt bored. He would call me fat and/or dumb, and then laugh when I'd respond negatively, which infuriated me more. He also would go on long tirades about what a waste of time a Ph.D is, and suggest that my career was an exercise in futility, which enraged me. Then, every time I would almost dump him, he would start apologizing profusely and CRYING. I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't just tell him to save it for his shrink and walk out then, but I'd always convince myself that it wasn't a very big deal and he really was sorry. Man, I didn't realize how fucked up this relationship actually was unti I just wrote that down.
TWOD was also a social liability. While he was usually pleasant to my friends, he'd pull shit where I would literally want to sink into the ground and disappear, and being that I have no shame, that's a tall order. One time, we were on the subway, and he announced loudly, "I fucking hate Jews. Greedy fucking kikes." Everyone on the crowded train immediately took notice and stared at us resentfully. It does not help that with my Scandinavian features, I look like I'd fit right in at a white supremacy rally. Horrified, I said, "What the fuck are you talking about? Why would you say something like that?" He laughed, and said, "Racism is hilarious." I gaped at him. "No, it's not!" He gestured to everyone around him, and said, "Look, I got everyone's attention." I responded, "Yeah, because they all think you're an anti-semitic Nazi asshole! That's not funny...it's EMBARRASSING. I don't want anyone thinking that I'm with you or, God forbid, agreeing with you." Yet another opportunity to unload his dead weight came, and for some reason I let it pass me by and continued dating him.
All these incidents did subtly change the way I thought about him. I stopped noticing positive things about him, and started paying much more attention to his negative attributes. Pretty soon, everything about him drove me crazy. I hated his spartan apartment. I hated the fact that he drank vodka sodas with a splash of cranberry. I hated his taste in television. I hated the way he moaned girlishly during sex. I hated his cum face. I hated the fact that he slept until four every day, and then took another nap at six, and then made fun of me for my diurnal schedule. I hated his wardrobe (in addition to his Madonna t-shirt, he also had this purple ruffled number that he wore out one time to meet my friend Wmania, and I told him in no uncertain terms that I'm cool with many things, but dating a gay pirate is not one of them). I especially hated his whining. Because of his compulsive need for sex, he would constantly pester me for it. Anyone I've ever dated and/or slept with and/or hung out with can tell you that I have a voracious appetite for fucking, so it's not like I wasn't giving it up. I was putting out several times a day. I LOVE getting laid. However, there's nothing that will kill your libido quicker than having your boyfriend show up in frilly girl clothes and wheedle "Can we PLEEEEEASE make love?" The way he phrased it made me immediately respond with "Ugh! No!" because it was such an unbelievable turnoff. Then he'd bitch to everyone who'd listen that I was a big prude and not the wanton slut I claimed to be, and pout about it. No matter how many times I explained that his method of initiating sex was the problem, he'd accuse me of being a bad girlfriend who didn't attend to his needs. It was all my fault.
Furthermore, I also became aware of the extent of his drug problem at this time. In addition to seeking help from an ear, nose, and throat specialist for his deviated septum, there were vials of cocaine all over his apartment. I'd go to get a fork out of his kitchen drawer and find yet another of his many stashes. He'd call me and say, "Come over and we'll order pizza and watch Romancing the Stone and have a quiet night in," and I'd get there and he'd be coked out of his mind and masturbating furiously, then imperiously demand blowjobs for the rest of the night. I'd usually comply, but he would want these epic, hour-long blowjobs without reciprocation, and I would lose patience with that very quickly. After twenty minutes or so, which is a long time to give head without a break, my mandibular joint would be aching and I'd be like, "Okay, it's my turn now," and he would start whining abusively. "But I want more head! I want MORE! You are such a prude! You are a selfish lover! You NEVER suck my dick." It was so unfair, especially since due to the inordinate amount of blow he was doing, he couldn't fuck me properly to thank me for spending so much time sucking him off and then tolerating his complaints about how a thirty minute BJ is chintzy and prudish. This behavior increased proportionally with the amount of cocaine that entered his nose, and it grew both tiresome and alarming.
Toward the end of our relationship, I invited TWOD to accompany me to the P-N-Dub for my brother's college graduation. I warned him ahead of time that this would entail lots of quality family time and not much sightseeing, so he shouldn't come if he wants to spend the whole time going up in the Space Needle or taking the Seattle Underground Tour. I also warned him that my mother isn't cool with me sleeping in the same room as my boyfriend, because she's very uncomfortable with anything having to do with my sexuality. He gave me a long song and dance about how much he wanted to meet my family, and that this would be fine. Our first night, we went to eat oysters in Seattle, had sex in my parents' car, and had a generally nice time. The second day, we went to my aunt's house for dinner and I thought he was quiet, but well-behaved. Then we went to the Roadhouse with MillerTime and he perked up considerably, in spite of the looks he got for ordering his decidedly feminine signature drink and his vocal outrage that the Roadhouse, an establishment known for its wide selection of pull tabs and its heated smoking porch, didn't stock the bar with Ketel One. The next day was my brother Lil' Tevie's graduation, and all his attempts at conducting himself like an adult went out the window. He spent the entire commencement complaining loudly to my entire family about how long and boring it was (and Lil' Tevie's ceremony lasted an hour and a half...in contrast, my Smith graduation involved bagpipes and long speeches from vagina ashtray-sculpting feminist artists, and lasted FOUR hours). Then at the party for Lil' Tevie at my parents' house, he was rude to all my relatives, told Lil' Tevie that "teaching is stupid" (my brother is a teacher), and decided to take a nap on top of the guests' coat pile. He actually got mad when one of my cousins was about to leave and he had to wake up and move so that she could extract her coat and purse from beneath him. The entire flight back to New York, we were fighting about this.
"That whole trip was boring. I wanted to spend more time in Seattle!"
"I told you it wasn't going to be a sightseeing trip, TWOD. You said that was fine!"
"We didn't do ANYTHING except hang out with your family. I thought I was going to die from boredom."
"You are thirty-one years old. I would think that by this point in your life, that you realize that sometimes you have to do things that you don't want to do. Since you obviously haven't, GROW UP and realize it!"
There were five hours of this on the way back to New York, and I was gearing up to dump him as he stuck me with the $80 cab fare from JFK to each of our apartments, but he escaped before I could deliver the death blow. I think he realized what was coming because for the next week and a half, he acted like a prince. He told me that he was quitting drugs, asked for my support, took me out to dinner several times, and was surprisingly well-behaved. I was suspicious, but thought that maybe he was really going to change, and convinced myself that I'd be a really shitty person if I didn't help this man who claimed to love me when he needed it most. He seemed motivated, and I thought that perhaps he could remind me why I ever liked him in the first place. He said he was going to get a dog, and asked if he could dogsit Chingy! one weekend to give pet ownership a trial run.
The trial was quickly terminated. I had to go pick up Chingy! on that Saturday because the night before, TWOD fed him a Wendy's Frostie, which combines two potent dog poisons: dairy and chocolate. Chingy! was sick and shitting everywhere. I fucked TWOD, collected Chingy!, and walked with TWOD back to the subway. On the way, TWOD picked a fight with me about whatever, and it got progressively heated as we approached the A train station on 14th and 8th Avenue. "Why do you always do this? I thought things were going better for us, and now you pull this? What is your fucking problem?" I asked. "Why don't you go home and settle down and we can discuss this later like adults?"
And then he committed his most unacceptable act of bullshit offensiveness, in one swift, cheap shot. There's one thing I don't discuss on this blog (my membership in what I call "the clinic club"), because it doesn't sit well with me to this day, and I have a lot of complex and unpleasant feelings concerning it. However, he felt that to win this argument, he'd go ahead and break it out. It was the debating equivalent of dropping a nuclear bomb on our argument.
"Why don't YOU go have another abortion and cry about it, you dumb bitch?"
I felt like he'd kicked me in the twat. I was apoplectic with rage to the point where I could not even speak. Not trusting myself not to murder him with my bare hands right there, I gathered up my Chingy! and marched onto the subway. I rode all the way back uptown fuming and fantasizing about smashing him in the face with a pickaxe. I didn't take his calls for the next three days. There was no apology sufficient to rectify this.
Prior to this incident, we had plans for dinner the next week, and I finally decided to pick up the phone when he called that afternoon. He acted like nothing had happened, and wanted to know if I was in the mood for sushi or steak. "We need to have a discussion," I said. "I'll come over and we can talk."
He paused. "Are you going to break up with me?"
"Yes," I said.
"Then don't bother coming over. I don't need to see you if you're just going to dump me."
"Well, at least I can thank you for saving me the trip. Have a nice life."
I hung up and did a fucking jig, I was so happy to be free of his dead weight. In the weeks following, he proceeded to start his own website, which is mercifully no longer polluting the internets. His home page featured a picture of him shoving a dildo up his ass, and the site consisted mainly of transcripts of instant message fights between the two of us, and the ex-girlfriend he briefly reconciled with after I was done with him. There were also a number of incoherent paragraphs about his deep and abiding love for cocaine. If I ever needed validation for my decision to finally sever ties, that website was it.
The entire episode with TWOD taught me one very important lesson: when in doubt, dump that fucktard. I should have dropped his bitch ass the second I first realized that his "ohhhh! OH!" orgasmic squealing irritated me. I should have dropped his bitch ass the first time he ever questioned my intellect, or called me a name, or even showed hints of treating me shabbily. Those are four months I will never get back, when I could have been spending more time with my friends and enjoying myself. I will never make that mistake again, and if any good can come out of the TWOD shitshow, it's that maybe people in similar situations will heed my advice to get out NOW. Life is too short to spend sitting on a dick that doesn't appreciate you, respect you, or understand you. Breaking up is hard to do, but it's SO worth it to remember what it's like living life on your own terms. Don't waste your time with undeserving losers who think they can make up for being a raging asshole with sushi and an insincere "sorry" or two, because once you've taken them back, they'll just reoffend in a way that's logarithmically worse. The TWODs of the world are not remotely worth it, not even a little bit.
Labels: assholes, drugs, oh the horror, perversion, Razzification, real-life rejects, retard rage, scathing indictments
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Is it just me, or does that douchebag look a lot like Barry Manilow with a one-bottle dye job?
# posted by 
: 5/25/2007 2:10 PM
: 5/25/2007 2:10 PM
Actually, I think he looks like Jeffrey Sebelia, the douchebag who won "Project Runway 3", except with a chin. Maybe if Jeffrey Sebelia and Barry Manilow had a cocaine-induced night of passion, he's the unholy bastard that would result.
Consider four months a VERY cheap price to pay for a valuble life lesson. You did well to recognize how he made you feel so quickly. Clearly you don't fit comfortably in the victim role. There are millions of us who could tell similar stories that last for years and involve abused children and shattering divorces as well. You might count is a blessing that he gave you a get-out-of-relationship free card with his emotionally nuclear insult so early in your time together. And now you have this really great story to tell.
# posted by : 5/25/2007 8:10 PM
: 5/25/2007 8:10 PM
This was a great post, Razzy. I wonder what spurred you to write this tale now... Anyway, after reading this, I feel like I've just been on a roller coaster ride. I feel both dizzy and a bit barfy.
# posted by : 5/25/2007 10:41 PM
: 5/25/2007 10:41 PM
Really riveting post (and fascinating story, though it sucks for you that you had to go through all that.)
Thanks for sharing.
Thanks for sharing.
# posted by : 5/26/2007 6:58 AM
: 5/26/2007 6:58 AM
Thank God you dropped that loser like a hot potato, and thank God you learned something from it. As a previous commenter pointed out, many of us don't pick up on how f'd up a realtionship with an abusive jerk can be until it's much too late.
This was a terrific post. It must have been hard to write it, but I'm so glad you did.
This was a terrific post. It must have been hard to write it, but I'm so glad you did.
# posted by : 5/27/2007 1:18 PM
: 5/27/2007 1:18 PM
Wow, nothing sacred for you, eh? The guy was obviously a bad boyfriend, but it sounds like he also had a drug problem and a lot of personal issues. You could have been more understanding about how these might have affected his behavior, but I guess it's really just all about you. At the very least you don't have to air his dirty laundry out for the entire world to see. I feel sorry for this guy, that he ever had the misfortune of dating a blabbermouth bitch like you.
# posted by : 5/27/2007 3:09 PM
: 5/27/2007 3:09 PM
Lucky for Tod there's at least one person out there on his side. If I hadn't deleted that asshole's number from my phone, I'd pass it on. If you're a dude, you could go out and pick up chicks to mistreat together, and if you're a chick, maybe you could have the pleasure of dating his broke ass! His AOL IM handle is "tod588". Maybe if you're REALLY lucky, he'll post all your instant message transcripts on the internet like he did with me!
Razzy-
Wonderful post. Don't listen to any haters. You're a strong, brilliant woman and you're shit is funny as hell too. Good riddance to that fucking psychopath. The funny thing is I just had a recent split with an asshole myself and was sort of reconsidering it--until I read your post. Love you!
Wonderful post. Don't listen to any haters. You're a strong, brilliant woman and you're shit is funny as hell too. Good riddance to that fucking psychopath. The funny thing is I just had a recent split with an asshole myself and was sort of reconsidering it--until I read your post. Love you!
# posted by : 5/29/2007 8:36 AM
: 5/29/2007 8:36 AM
Couldn't have said it better myself: fuck the haters and fuck the psycho sicko ex's! Keep your chin up Raz!
# posted by : 5/29/2007 6:12 PM
: 5/29/2007 6:12 PM
look at all these supportive and appreciative posts, bebe! you're so lovable. mwah!
# posted by : 5/30/2007 10:06 AM
: 5/30/2007 10:06 AM
He deserved to have his prick bitten off and tossed into a storm drain to become rat fodder. It's completely understandable though why you felt compelled to get on the subway and leave him standing there like the loser he is.
Signed,
A new fan
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Signed,
A new fan
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