We Can Still Be Friends

What do your ex and dog shit have in common?

So I was on my trip last year, you know the one that ended in fucking flames? Well I met a guy. I met a lot of guys but this one stuck around. I was past a place in my life where I believed in decent men but through lots and lots of sincerity and consistency, he made me feel secure enough to be myself, even when I was a little crazy (this is pre-medication obviously). He saw me through the truck debacle. He was a pillar in my time of need so when I returned home, I was happy we kept in communication. He flew out here to visit and we had an amazing time. We had a very intimate, very genuine weekend together, and it made me readjust my thoughts on even liking men again.

Then he was a fucking asshole.

He got super weird days after he got home. He acted stupid about nailing down times for me to come visit. I made a sincere attempt to be clear about what I thought was happening (a wholly new thing for me) but was met with utter ignorance. And so I left him alone. No more pathetic texts or pleads to communicate. And we didn’t speak…for TWO FUCKING MONTHS. Not a fucking word. I’m of the idea that if he wanted to, he would, so I cut off accessibility. Blocked his number, shit like that. He managed to get ahold of me because, again, he wanted to, so he did. My feelings were severely hurt and although he wanted to jump right in where we left off, I promised not to let anyone else just Walter* themselves right back into my life. Well, accountability and responsibility for one’s actions wasn’t really something he was into so that connection was never repaired. Not that they can be. Once it’s broken, it’s never quite the same.

A year passed and nothing spectacular had happened to me romantically since. One lackluster sexual experience and one confusing half-ass kiss in a parking lot, and I’m basically asexual. Well, kind of at least. It’s not that I don’t want to sleep with men, I just find them so utterly despicable and disgusting that I’m physically repulsed when thinking about being intimate with one. Liken this to the feeling when your finger pops through the poo bag and you realize mid pick-up that you, in fact, have dog shit on your hand. That’s how I feel about bringing a man into my life. Just sheer ick.

I found myself rehashing this shit with my bar boyfriend (a man in which you hang out with at the bar exclusively), and he encouraged me to reach out for a hook-up. No visiting, no vacation. No feelings or emotion. Just a good time with someone who’s really only good for a good time. And honestly it made sense. So a month ago, against my better judgement, I mentioned to New Mexico he ought to fly up overnight. This suggestion was met with “Yeah, ok, sounds good. I’ll look at flights” And that was it. We didn’t speak again. He went radio silent and because I don’t really give a fuck about him anymore, this time I was unbothered. I mentioned it in passing, “Oh yeah, XYZ might’ve died.” Lol. We’d got a hearty chuckle and kept the conversation rolling.

Until he called me yesterday.

Yes, called, as in on the phone. I looked down and saw a New Mexico area code (because I only add a number to my phone once) and fucking knew it was him. 10am. No warm up text or “hey, are you busy” feelers. Just raw-dogging my cell phone in the middle of a Thursday morning. I answered out of sheer curiosity, and he didn’t skip a beat. How’s the dog? How’s the truck? How’s the weather? All the same stupid shit you’re forced to ask out of nicety instead of just getting straight to the point. So I ask “Why, what’s up with you?”

He says “Oh, I’ve just been hanging out with the same friends group, friends from high school [pregnant pause], and this one chick from high school that doesn’t really hang out has been hanging out more so I just wanted to let you know I’m still here to talk about your truck and stuff”…indistinct murmurs, bullshit, blah, blah.

Because of the indirectness of the comment and the three shots of vodka I had for breakfast, I was confused.

“What did you just say to me?” I asked, maybe a little more directly than I should have.

“Oh, just that this chick from high school has been hanging around and over at the house a lot so…but I’m still here if you want to talk, about the truck or whatever.”

Ahhhh, yes. I see. He called me to tell me he had a girlfriend. Ergo, he has a new chick that he’s currently fucking but we can still be “friends”, because he might still want to fuck me later and doesn’t know exactly if this thing with her is going to work out yet, so go ahead and just stay on the back burner for now.

Ok, tight.

“Well, I don’t have anything to talk about my friend. The truck is good. Work is good. The website is good,” I replied, although I should have mentioned that gang bang I had last Tuesday since we’re sharing. I ended the call, still friendly but genuinely mystified. We hadn’t been in conversation or exchanging messages. I didn’t even have his phone number saved. But to reach out to tell me that he was seeing someone, I was simply fucking speechless.

And then I was mad.

I wasn’t mad he found a whole new bitch to hang out with; I was mad that he thought it mattered enough (to me) to tell me. Out of thin fucking air he felt compelled to inform me of his new burgeoning relationship as if I’d been pining away for him all this time. Then I was embarrassed that I’d reached out in the first place, only inflating his ego even further. To think I live in Las Vegas and still couldn’t find one measly man to have sex with. To have to reach out to some dick from 1,000 miles away, oh the humiliation. Then I shifted to annoyance. Annoyance that I was caught off guard, out here without a de facto boyfriend of my own. Not because I actually wanted a boyfriend but because it’s so easy to hide behind a new one. It’s a hell of a lot easier to just switch em out than to have to confront difficult feelings when they come up.

Finally I realized…it doesn’t matter. He’s not my boyfriend calling some other bitch to tell her they can still be “friends”. I’m not the one who is going to be disappointed when I find out how emotionally shutdown he is. There won’t be ignored messages or silent treatment to contend with. No hurt feelings or tears. That emotional rollercoaster is someone else’s problem, not mine, and that’s good fucking news.

So to all the ladies out there feeling some type of way about how a relationship ended, or whatever the case may be, just remember there’s some woman out there meeting your ex for the first time thinking this is the best day of her life. Lol.

xoxo, The Bitter Bitch

*Waltering someone is a term used for a likely narcissist who wastes years of your life playing emotional chicken, disappearing whenever they like, leaving you in shambles, only to reappear as if by magic like nothing ever happened.