|Sock Puppetry at its Finest|
My girlfriend, Michelle, laughed. "You really don't need to leave home for drama to park itself at your door."
I responded with my usual grunt and groan.
By virtue of eliminating one crazy element from my life, namely my ex-boyfriend, I firmly believed my life would settle down. Even looked forward to a little mind-numbing dullness as his recent disclosures and my subsequent emotional turbulence have reduced me into a nerve-racking bundle of tears. Like floodgate tears.
There are times when I regret ending the relationship. But, as Michelle pointed out (having seen several of the sex slave bondage movies in which he starred), "Just think of him strapped and bolted naked into that elevator chair," and I burst out into laughter. The images of him being tortured and ENJOYING it burnt into my retinas; no longer could I ever take him seriously. Hell, I cringe in shame being involved with someone like that and prior to this, I adored him.
The speed at which I went from admiration to revulsion also threw me off balance. Perhaps charring a few of my synapses.
Around the same time, two weeks ago, I ended my fling with the FedEx guy. We were in bed for the last shtup when my ex-boyfriend texted and emailed to inform me he sent money for a tattoo, the replacement Valentine's Day gift.
Okay, enough of a preamble.
The latest crap started the other day on Facebook where I place links to my blog posts, especially the recent ones concerning the end of my relationship. A guy with whom I grew up, yet never interacted with until the 30th high school reunion when I said, "Wes, you look terrific!" sent me a personal FB message: "Perhaps I misunderstood what you posted, but were you into porn?"
After clarifying his misconception which he admitted was his feeble stab at humor, I informed him I'm done with men, sex, romance and relationships. It's beyond hurt, it's more like I lost interest. As I said to my friends, "Don't ever say I wasn't an optimist: 40 years of dating is enough torture for anyone!" The last guy ruined everything for I'll never trust a man ever again.
"You're a beautiful woman," Wes wrote and started the typical routine with sweet, meaningless, empty words to seduce me to change my mind.
I wrote, "What I find funny is that men get so upset like one 58 yo piece of pussy is really going to make the difference!"
Because I'm serious. Since I made that declaration, men have thrown themselves at me. Even when I insist I'm done with men, sex, romance and relationships, it's like catnip. A challenge.
Wes, having a cock (I gather), gave me the OFFER of a century to come over to my home any weekend I choose so he can fuck me.
What am I, a piece of meat? Not even an offer to talk, get to know me, catch up on our lives, nothing. Ten years ago I spoke once to this yutz and outside of 8 exchanges on FB private messages, no conversation, no interactions face-to-face. It's ALL internet. Guess that means I'm obligated to spread my legs to this illiterate asshole for the pity fuck of a lifetime, something I NEED? WTF??
I'm so... so... let's try disgusted, nauseated, outraged and insulted.
Ordinarily, I'd blast this guy a new asshole. But then I realized his IQ hovers in the double digits, so I wrote:
Well, Wes. I simply don't know what to say. It would be lovely to have you visit, yet something tells me you want more, a part of my life that is done and over with.
Wes responded: OK, clear enough.
That enraged me. Put me into a tear. WTF is wrong with these guys? The back of my head exploded. I'm dealing with a 58 year old man, not a child. In two seconds, I defriended him on FB. Then, I went to my girlfriend's bakery/cafe armed with a 150 page manuscript.
It doesn't help matters that I'm compiling ALL my edating comedy advice books into one edition. To date, I published three out of six and recognized belatedly it's only confusing to people in serial form based on the emails I received. In these books, I write about e-men, lunatics of both genders, scams and attitudes. Ordinarily, I find this shit funny as hell. However, now, with a broken heart and second-guessing my take on men, the revisions and editing are as abrasive as sandpaper.
I sat down at one of the front tables and proceeded to work while my girlfriend toiled in the back baking artisan breads, pastries, you name it. Everything was hunky-dory until my FedEx driver entered.
At least, this time with a package for my girlfriend.
He smiled at me and asked, "Did you get the tattoo?" He was there when I received word from my ex-boyfriend about the money transfer. I pulled my right arm out of the sweater sleeve and showed him. "Nice," and he smiled.
Thrilled he remained cool about the entire break-up, I resumed work on the manuscript until he cleared his throat and said, "I saw you two days ago at xxxxx at 11:30 in the morning."
You could hear a pin drop.
"And the day before that, I saw your car at the supermarket parking lot around 5pm."
He stood there, smiling and beaming.
That didn't sit too well with me. "I thought you got a new job."
"If I did, would you think I'd still be doing this?" He looked at me. "There are no fucking jobs out there!" and left.
I yelled to my girlfriend. "I thought he was cool. Now he's not." It's creepy he's keeping an eye out for me. Even creepier that he remembers details and creepiest that he told me.
Great. ANOTHER problem on the horizon. I thought it would be easy getting rid of him as it was with the ex-boyfriend AND his catfish. To read the parody of that true story, click HERE!
As expected, the ex-boyfriend slinked away as he never held deep feelings or passion for me which is a good thing. The last time we communicated was two weeks ago with my thank you text for the tattoo and his very kind response. And nothing since then. There's nothing more as it's over.
However, the catfish reared his fat, ugly snout again yesterday. I tend to forget the tenacity this lunatic has. ALL his focus has been on me over the past YEAR. I interacted with him when he came back online a month subsequent to his exposure in the press, almost losing his job and publicly humiliated solely because I wrote articles and acted as Editor for his blog, defunct as of 9/2012.
"Things changed," I told him back in November, "the jig's up and stop with the charade and just be yourself and we'll get the blog back up."
|A Catfish's Hobby: Building Daleks|
He blames ME for his inability to get his blog up and about because I refuse to work on it, mind you, for FREE. As a result, he goes ballistic on twitter with subtweets about me as if subtweets matter. As if a subtweet makes the difference between life and death, puts food on my table, pays my mortgage and healthcare.
I enjoyed the subtweets over the past 8 months as a form of entertainment as do a lot of mutual twitter followers who send me copies. To keep them happy, I jettisoned here and there a subtweet knowing he'd lose his mind even though my interest waned.
Because I changed.
By the time I returned home last night, he was already ballistic tweeting insane shit, vitriolic, nasty, violent stuff. Of course, twitter people sent me pages of this crap hoping to get a rise out of me. Instead, I read it and shrugged. It's only twitter, for gawd's sake! For them, I shot off a tweet and then resumed doing what I was doing, watching a tv show, texting my friend and plotting the weekend's activities.
YES, I CHANGED.
With time and a little distance, I saw why the catfish held a grip on me: it was due to his relationship with my now ex-boyfriend which continues despite their sordid past. As this defies logic, it drove me crazy, but no longer. Not even when one of the subtweets contained an intimate and current detail of my life that only the ex-boyfriend knew and no doubt recently told him. Still, it doesn't get a rise outta me.
Last night, for the first time in a month of suffering over a 9-month relationship that shouldn't have been, I saw the light! For I moved on.
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