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What the Fuck's Wrong with People Nowadays?

It's a recurrent theme in my blog posts to those of you repeat readers, but, honestly, what the fuck's wrong with people nowadays? This time my rant's focused on some recent fucked up activity. Now, the guy I'm writing about reads my blog, something I just found out. I know there's going to be considerable backlash as to this posting.

GOOD!

99% of the people in my life know I don't like using the phone. I prefer emails, texts, chats, IMs. Phone kills me. I modified an ear bud to use in my good ear. Even so, I need to be in a quiet room with no echoes and no background sound. It doesn't matter: the tinnitus gets louder and louder and I still don't catch most of the conversation.

If it isn't business-related, I don't pay attention for the most part. Only with those few who are near and dear to me. For listening's an energy-draining activity for me.

Anyhow, this guy I'm friendly with phones me out of the blue which is strange considering he knows I prefer texts. We've been on the outs for the past two months. I'm pissed at him and he knows why. But you don't, so here goes:

He's a platonic friend who has offered a quadrillion times to help me out with a few chores at my house. I can't lift things because I tore a cartilage in my chest. These are not backbreaking things, they're easy to do and don't require anything other than two seconds. Each time I complain about something, he'd say, "I'm a MAN and I'LL help you!"

All he succeeded in helping me with is draining my energy when he came over every night for a week where I cooked dinner, serving him hand and foot and listened to him, contributing as well to the conversations. In return, when I asked him to do one thing he promised, he high-tailed it outta there. I remained adamant and bugged him about helping me out with ONE FUCKING thing: I haven't seen him in a month and received only one text in 2 1/2 weeks.

I was exhausted when I answered the phone that Saturday night. It was nearly a week since my NYC visit, but I'm still wiped out.

"Come join me at the Saloon," he says. Then I heard, "Blah blah blah," followed with something about his business partner.

"You know I don't like the place," I said. "They turn the amps full volume and their live musicians suck. It's too overpowering for my ears."

"We'll be on the outside deck," he informs me.

"I don't think I can handle that," I said. Against my better judgment, I got dressed and drove over there, a few miles away.

Sure enough, he and his bud were seated on the deck in front of a propped open door. Two feet inside was the 'musician.' I was greeted by a wall of blasting loud music, poorly played and caterwauling that would put cats in heat to shame.

After screaming introductions to the business partner who looked at me as if he bit into a turd, we sat down and I ordered an alcoholic beverage.

"It's too loud for me here," I informed my friend. "I'm gonna have to close that door." I got the waitress to close it.

"That's so much better," I said in relief. "It felt as if someone shoved a hot poker in my head." I looked at his friend, "I suffer from a rare neurological deafness."

His friend stated, "I don't care. I want to listen to the music." I got the message loud and clear.

My friend sat there like a lump. "Forget about the music. Stay a while. Drink your drink."

Incredulous, I stared at him. "You want me to stay and suffer?" He averted his eyes. I continued, "If they open the door, I'm outta here. There's no reason why I should stay."

Right at that moment, someone propped the door open again. His friend laughed in glee.

I picked up the drink, took one tiny sip and placed it on the table. "I'm outta here," I repeated and left them with my tab.

Minutes later, he phoned me. And this is where things get trippy.

"I talk about you often to my friend who's my business partner," he tells me. "He didn't believe you were real, that I had a writer for a friend, so he asked me to invite you."

"I can tell he wasn't thrilled to meet me," I said.

"Yeah. He said after you left, 'What're you doing with HER?'"

I screamed, "What the fuck? Why are you telling me this conversation? Do I really need to hear it? And what's wrong with that fucking friend of yours - I'm not hot enough, good-looking enough?"

He continued, "I said to him, she's only a friend," and then he shrieked, "I'm not sleeping with her!"

I groaned. That was precisely the gist of all of this. He always manages to toss that into a conversation. He even blames my ex-lover for my steadfast refusal to move this into anything other than platonic. Guys can be so fucking delusional. Honestly, what could he bring to the table outside of a few helping gestures with the chores and words, "I'm a MAN and I'LL help you!"

He carried on, telling me what a schmuck his friend is. The only thing that chafed me is that he didn't stand up for me. But, I wasn't angry, simply annoyed. Because I lost interest in him, his friend, his world.

UNTIL he suddenly whined, "You know, I'm the ONLY ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS YOUR DEAFNESS."

This was a brand new conversation from him. The little blond hairs on top of my arms stood at attention.

"I've watched you and I know how much your hearing has decreased. I know how sound makes you suffer. I've watched your face! I see how tired you get listening to me." He shouted, "And, I know that other people think you're full of shit!"

Whoa, that was a curveball. Other people? Who the fuck does he talk to about me?! Who do we know in common, if anyone?

"Other people think you're making this all up! They think you're trying to get attention to yourself! But, not me, I know you."

Right then, I was thrown back to my last relationship with a man who thankfully lives far away. I ended it every month for the duration of the relationship and got emotionally roped in when the guy begged me to extend the relationship a little longer so he could see me and explain himself. This happened between each visit.

For all intents and purposes, I was done with the boyfriend the last three months before he visited me the final time. I texted him, "Scrap your plans. It's over." This time, his plea to resurrect the relationship was a text message with a different tone, "You're 56 and deaf in one ear, going deaf in another." In other words, beggars can't be choosy. For a brief moment, I felt as if I were interacting with the ex-boyfriend.

This one's last plea, "We're friends, right?" I wearily agreed to as I wasn't in the mood to expend any more energy. Placated, he said, "Okay, I'll see you in a few days."

I hung up the phone. Pensive, I wondered where he got this new line of conversation, quite unlike ANY we had over the past seven months. Until I remembered my recent post, "I'm in a Shitty Mood." I re-read that and went, "Aha!"

I'm pressing 'delete' on this friendship - I don't need you or want you in my life. Since you read my blog, you saved me energy and effort to say this to your face.

Here's a few more words: You can at least keep the few remaining promises you made to prove you're not a total tool and finish the tarring around my fireplace in exchange for all the food you ate at my house. You didn't lift a finger as I cooked, served and catered to you. You liked that, you motherfucker. I gave you upfront what you never did in reciprocity - keeping YOUR promises. You still have to remove the mattresses from my storage shed, something you promised several times. And don't forget to take your bike outta there as well. Insofar as all the other things, I DID IT MYSELF.

I guess I grew a dick after all.


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This blog and all its posts are a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.









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