Rule #1: Don’t stick your dick (metaphorical or otherwise) into Crazy.
Rule #2: If you’ve broken rule #1, which you probably have if you need my help, don’t respond to Crazy’s text messages, Facebook wall posts, phone calls, or emails.
Rule #3: Don’t continue to stick your dick (metaphorical or otherwise) into Crazy.
Rule #4: Don’t get high and allow Crazy to talk you into a relationship.
Rule #4a: Certainly don’t get high and get into a relationship with Crazy after Crazy has done some decidedly crazy shit.
Rule #5: Do make out with your new suitor in front of Crazy when Crazy shows up to your house while you are orgasming.
Rule #6: Make sure that the follow up to Crazy has a concealed carry permit.
Rule #6a: Make sure that the follow up to Crazy has a deep commitment to lulz.
Rule #6b: Make sure that the follow up to Crazy is very aware that Crazy could explode all over you while dealing with the never ending saga of your relationship fall out.
Rule #7: When your love interest jumps out of bed after you’ve been talked into a relationship so s/he can update their relationship status on Facebook, you may have accidentally stuck your (metaphorical or otherwise) dick into Crazy.
Rule #8: Don’t break up in a private place.
Rule #9: Make sure that your mutual friends (the ones Crazy will need to lean on after you’ve had the blow out “GTFO OF MY LIFE” fight) don’t get high really often, or Crazy might show up on your doorstep.
Rule #10: Don’t flip out on Crazy. Rather, wait for Crazy to have sabotaged his/her life so much that everyone else sees how crazy Crazy is. This may include, but is not limited to, the following: mutual friends, former lovers, their friends, coworkers, family, customers, pets, people walking down the street. You get the drift.
So.
I have a story to tell.
Late last week, Roommate #1 and I decided to have a happy, nice little dinner. Wine, food, beer, friends…just hanging out, drinking some wine, eating some food, me getting laid by my Libertarian Male Suitor, a fairly sedate weekend for us.
Our friends started filing into our house, we eat, drink, etc. Eventually my Libertarian Male Suitor and I retired to the boudoir, where we engaged in the things that a 29 year old female and a 23 year old male do when in a dark bedroom after they’ve had a few drinks. During our second tryst, I thought I heard a mutual friend downstairs. After finishing our very filthy sexual romp, I said “I’m getting dressed, I think [mutual friend] is downstairs!” Libertarian Male Suitor follows my lead- for the lulz, of course! - and we begin our descent downstairs with shit eating grins on our faces, prepared for the hilarity that is bound to ensue.
Another friend stormed up the stairs after she heard us getting ready, pushed Libertarian Male Suitor against the wall and loudly whispered “YOU CAN’T GO DOWN THERE.” He responds with “why not?”
Her: “CRAZY EX GIRLFRIEND IS DOWNSTAIRS!”
Him: “HAHA! I’m telling [drunkenatheist]!”
At this point, I should mention two things:
1) Libertarian Male Suitor is more committed to the lulz than I am.
2) I’m really loud when having the good “relations.”
Upon the realization that my most recent ex just heard me get off, and the fact that I was in a leg trembling, post orgasmic haze, it probably wasn’t a great thing that she brings about the passive-aggressive lurking within me. My response? “Fuck that. It’s my fuckin house.”
I start the trek down the stairs, and Crazy Ex Girlfriend has her patented shitty smirk on her face, as she knows that it bothers me when she comes around for no other reason than to be an asshole. Except…Oh wait, is that look slipping off your face because you just saw a man follow me down the stairs? Is he a man you know? Is he a man you had problems with me speaking to (because GOD KNOWS the bisexuals can’t be trusted, amirite)?
Oh, did it get replaced with “oh fuck” & seething anger? Did your plan backfire?
Libertarian Male Suitor and I sit down on my loveseat. Actually, he was stretched towards me and motioned for me to lay in his arms.
Cue more seething hatred from the ex.
As I laid down onto his chest, I looked at him and said “I’m sorry. I know this is awkward.” In true commitment to the lulz, he told me that it wasn’t awkward for him.
Crazy Ex Girlfriend was about to be - as the kids say - pwned.
Despite the fact that (almost everyone) in the room felt completely awkward, Libertarian Male Suitor and I engaged in a lengthy make out session. Like, putting horny Abstinence Pledge taking, Bible Belt living, Jesus Camp lovin’ 15 year olds to shame. Said makeout session was interrupted only so he could make his presence known by either looking directly at the ex and smirking at her or interjecting some two word point that everyone else would acknowledge. Oh, and as I’ve been advised since this post went up, interrupted once to loudly snicker at her.
By this point, it was crystal clear that the ex was only staying out of spite, so Libertarian Male Suitor motions upstairs. Okay, so it wasn’t all because of this. Again: putting horny 15 year olds with access to Queen sized beds and a bottle of Boone’s Farm to shame with the making out.
Since I have gotten my amusement for the night, I readily agree with him. We say good night to everyone and make the very heavy implication that we will be sleeping in the same bed. And by “sleeping in the same bed,” I mean, “not intending on getting very much sleep. *winkwinknudgenudge*” Like, you’d have to be fucking retarded or psychotic to not figure out what was going on.
The ex just continued to sit on one of our couches with the surly look on her face.
So.
Libertarian Male Suitor and I do what virile 23 year old young men and sexually peaking 29 year old women do in a dark bedroom after they’ve had a few drinks and a lengthy makeout session on my loveseat. I’m not spelling it out for you.
I realize that we lost my tissues during the deeds that we engaged in, so I threw on clothes and walked into the living room. And noticed my ex. Still standing in my house. Cue my shit eating grin and roommate #3 cracking jokes about cleaning up.
I go back upstairs and make a comment to Libertarian Male Suitor about the fact that she was still at the house. About 15 minutes or so later, I hear the front door slam shut, so I come downstairs and find out some interesting information.
Like, for starters, Crazy Ex Girlfriend was not invited over. Now, it should be mentioned that Crazy Ex and I have multiple mutual friends, so it’s not all that crazy that some of my friends would text her. In the meantime, one of her besties and I have a running gag in which we constantly text/call another dude we know requesting milkshakes.
So, I think we see where this is going. Two people at the house texted Crazy Ex with “will you go get us milkshakes?” To make a long text message conversation very short, Crazy Ex agrees to take them to Wawa to get much coveted F’real milkshakes.
(Digression: Elkboy00, where are our milkshakes? That is the key to the puzzle. If you give us milkshakes, we’ll no longer request them from you over and over again. Little buddy, would you prefer that I do some Da Vinci Code shit instead of “red potato” or binary code?
Just checkin’ in.)
They make it very clear to Crazy Ex that it’s just going to cause drama if she shows up inside our house. They specifically tell her that I am home and Libertarian Male Suitor is at the house.
Logically, Crazy Ex does what crazy exes do, and parks her car so she can invite herself inside.
She comes in while I’m engaging in that thing a man and a woman do when they’re deeply in love or shitfaced or engaging in epic lulz. No big deal, right?
See, the problem is what comes next.
Now, when you walk into your most recent ex’s home and she’s getting fucked every which way, you go through a thought process.
Should I just look at my friends, flash some white kid version of gang signs, say “deuces” and leave?
OR
Should I go for the lazy and considerably more creepy and insane response? Should I just sit down on the couch, milkshake in hand and listen to my ex have (what sounds like) a much better orgasm than I could ever give her?
If that weren’t bad enough, she sat through me being all over Libertarian Male Suitor (I was rarely affectionate, let alone fighting to keep my hands off of her, after we had sex) and stuck around for Round Two. Who the fuck does that crazy shit? I mean, seriously, who sits there and consciously thinks “it would not be creepy, psychotic, downright insane, or potentially explosive for me to sit in my ex’s shared home and listen to her have sex?”
I mean, seriously, virile 23 year old Libertarian Male Suitors know what they’re doing in the privacy of a dark bedroom. Maybe it’s because of their commitment to Ron Paul? Who knows? But seriously, it’s good enough that the roommates hear me virtually every time we have sex. So I know she could hear me while sitting on the couch. Now, I have my own theories on why she did it (aside from the fact that she thought she could get under my skin), but this blog isn’t the place to really discuss them.
See, I can be nice about the matter and not mention that I think she was comparing herself to him or think that she might have done it because she’s still in love with me and it drives her to do batshit crazy things.
Or not.
So maybe I almost cried on Tuesday night.
And maybe there are photos of me with my arms in the air screaming for Barry O’s victorious crushing of Johnny Mac’s soul.
And maybe, just maybe, I was one of the many who charged up Broad Street to City Hall and screamed my head off.
And maybe I called my mom and screamed “BARRY O IN THE WHITE HOUSE, MUTHAFUCKA!”
Maybe, but I’m not sure. I wasn’t exactly keeping track of everything I did on Election Night. But I do one thing for certain: I can host a decent banger.
Let’s check that off the “complete by 30″ list.
I don’t like feelings.
I mean, I can feel feelings just fine. I simply don’t like them because they go and fuck up everything. Who wants that?
Like, you can be having a perfectly fun time and someone has to go fuck it all up by admitting some sort of emotional investment towards you.
I know, some of you cynical bastards think this is unhealthy. Oh. What. Fucking. Ever. There is nothing unhealthy about forcing your emotions down into the pit of your stomach and repressing everything. I know some of you pussies will try to tell me that’s how we get shit like high blood pressure, heart attacks, and severe mental/emotional issues that take years to straighten out, but I say “my body, my choice.”
Fucking feelings.
