Kelly Bundy, Kimmy Schmidt, and the “Grey’s Anatomy” method of avoidance.

Wow. WordPress readers really love my anxiety, don’t they?

More years ago than I care to consider, there was a show called Married with Children that probably wouldn’t make it in today’s infinitely-more-PC TV landscape. I remember people being offended by it at the time, but it was the late ’80s/early ’90s and most people didn’t give a fuck.

So there was the dumb blonde bimbo daughter, Kelly (Christina Applegate). She’s more appealing than her sports-fan father, so she goes on a sports trivia show in his place. But she knows nothing about sports, so he fills her brain with trivia before the show, and for every sports fact she absorbs, a bit of basic life knowledge leaves her brain, rendering her dumbstruck (seen here) when asked to recall everyday knowledge.

That’s where I am right now. For every bit of bullshit my brain has encountered this week, I’ve lost knowledge and patience. This morning I stood in the shower with conditioner on my hair, and for just a second completely blanked on what the next step was. And I just snapped at my brother because he’s being a fucking asshole. (Though I do kind of love it when I finally give up on trying to be polite and just say what I’m thinking.)

Family issues, friend concerns, medication that’s ruining my appetite and dehydrating me, not sleeping, and additional things with That Guy, all in those 3 days of spiked blog stats… I’m out. I spent my workday NOT FUCKING WORKING, but rather ensnared in a texting clusterfuck with aforementioned brother.

Also, I know my friends love me and will listen to me, but I’m sick of being the Needy Friend — they’ve heard a LOT this week, I sent a goddamn list. (Subject line: “No advice needed; just FYI, everything is fucked.”) I’ve talked to friends, a therapist, my personal journal, and you people. I am tired of thinking and talking about my fucking feelings. I’m not even upset, per se — I just want to go home and sit there for a week or so and not talk to anyone or think about anything. Maybe just spend the whole week re-watching all of Grey’s Anatomy in my pajamas.

So yeah. I’m currently at a Bundy Brain grade 4. I’m gonna pull a reverse Kimmy Schmidt and put my ass into the doomsday bunker.

Tantrum!

Email to friends:

“Do we remember the friend of my brother’s I ‘dated’ more than a year ago? The one who left my birthday gift at my door while I wasn’t home 6 months later because after we ‘broke up’ I kept avoiding seeing him to get it?

“He just texted me a Wonder Woman thing, and I figured the unknown number was a Facebook friend (which he isn’t) who’d seen the Wonder Woman thing I just posted. I responded asking who it was and he said, ‘It’s Ben, but thanks for losing my number…again…lol,’ (I’d deleted it before and we had the same discussion), and then, ‘We have to catch up sometime.’

“Christ, I thought *I* couldn’t take a hint. At least when someone used ME for sex and then stopped talking to me, I went AWAY.  

“This is why I refuse to date any more family friends. Catch up on what? We were never friends. We didn’t have conversations, we had sex, and I don’t feel the need to catch up on that.

“How do I always end up picking the guys who aren’t just happy to get their dick wet a few times and move on?

“To save you the time typing your (much appreciated) advice, I already blocked his number.”

Look, I know, I’m a coward and an asshole. I should be honest, but I really don’t know how other than the ‘I can’t date you anymore’ conversation we already had, and he reminds me of a time in my life I’m working really hard to get past. 

Do you know why we’re no longer sleeping together, sir? I couldn’t get it up for you anymore because we didn’t have good conversations. The only thing we had in common was binge eating, and during the month we hung out, you disrespected the only, like, TWO boundaries I have. We didn’t start as friends, and I can’t BE friends with someone whose only redeeming quality is being good at oral sex. Don’t get me wrong, that’s a fantastic skill — I will endorse you for it on OKCupid or whatever. But we can’t go get coffee like we’re long-lost besties.

(Again, I know. I’m a dick. In my defense, I told him up front I had issues, and he thought it was all quirky and cute and Deschanel. No, it’s bitchy and irrational. Fine line.)

Double fadeaway, denied.

Talking to friends yesterday: “I think I may have successfully ended a ‘friends with benefits’ thing with simple avoidance. I haven’t heard from him in 3 weeks. So…Yay, cowardice?”

Two hours later I get a text: “Hey stranger how goes things?”

Ahhh, shit.

Fine, I’ll be an adult. (I know, I know — I’m an asshole and I hate myself and I wouldn’t want to be treated that way and BLAH. Trust me, self-loathing already covered it. But I really did think it was a double fadeaway.)

In praise of mutual cowardice

Hm. Maybe I don’t even need to take the coward’s way out of this “breakup.” I haven’t heard from him since Christmas Day, and that includes an uncharacteristically booty-call-free weekend — I think the first since I’ve known him. This is good, because I was frankly too goddamn tired to shave anything all weekend, let alone deal with the performance of sex. (Yep, “performance.” Go big or go home, people.)

Hurrah, avoidance! Hurrah, not shaving!