I ran into a former coworker the other day and added him on Facebook, so I guess now Facebook is all, “Hey, we recognize that professional circle! Might you also want to be friends with That Guy?”
No, Facebook. I’ve told you that before. Twice, I believe. But thanks, I felt like feeling weird today. (I have no idea what the feeling is. Not angry, just…weird. Nothing will come of analyzing that NOW, though, so there’s no point — just don’t tell my therapist I said that.)
Dear Facebook,
No, “That Guy” and “Unfunny Ginger Comedian” are NOT among the “people I may know” on your site. They ARE among the “people I’ve slept with.” Maybe start a separate suggestion list? But hey, thanks for making me consider all THAT again in the span of 5 minutes.
At least That Guy and I COULD have been friends if things hadn’t gone all stupid. But “learning experience” be damned, the comedian was just an almost impressively bad life choice. The only memorable things about that “relationship” were learning:
A. That it’s possible for a man to appear bored while I’m naked and riding him. (I HOPE I can chalk that up to his seemingly rampant control issues, but maybe I’m just bad at being on top.)
B. About orgasm denial via his goddamn Jedi mastery of the Hitachi Magic Wand.*
No, really. Thanks a pantload, Facebook.
No love,
Smug
* I have no idea what kind of dark sorcery y’all summon to determine when we’re on the verge of orgasm, but damn. I salute you. You’re doing God’s work.
Now that a few days have passed and I’m sure there’s no more to this story…
The other day I looked at my phone and saw a missed FaceTime call from That Guy. I don’t use FaceTime, and he and I had never used it, so it was clearly just a misdial.
I’d always assumed it was customary to delete a woman’s number once she’d served her purpose, though I’d wager he’s deleted it now. I had deleted him as a contact a while back, oddly so I’d never call or text HIM accidentally, but I recognized the number.
And thank GOD I didn’t call him. Accident or no, and with apologies for my sexist generalization, a woman who did that would look like a goddamn psycho.
I’m a big believer in time healing all wounds when it comes to relationshits.
But no one mentions how time can also phantom-cockblock you when you discover too late in the proceedings that one of your favorite go-to, Old Faithful masturbation fantasies — the ones you rely on to get you there repeatedly and thoroughly when you can’t quite close on your own — doesn’t…fucking…WORK anymore. (This one involved That Guy, but SHUT UP, my clitoris was always happy!)
Personal growth is bullshit. The bulliest shit there is. (Joking. I just wish I could’ve somehow gotten the orgasm BEFORE the epiphany.)
BRB, changing my OkCupid profile to say my vagina is now accepting Tribute volunteers. #StuntedSingleton
Well. That is excellent.
I mean, I already knew, from that clusterfuck with That Guy and a few experiences since — I’m going through one now, actually. I am clearly a shit judge of friendship, but knowing there’s science afoot doesn’t make it any less depressing.
Thanks, Internet. You are NOT my friend. At least I know that.
Sad Study Shows Most of Your Friends Don’t Actually Like You
I checked out the profile of the OkCupid guy I wrote about earlier, and I’m not interested, so the name thing won’t even be an issue. (If I met anyone cool, I’d likely get over a name pretty quickly.)
Weirdness factor, though: In his profile, the OkCupid guy linked to his Goodreads page. I clicked it, and it took me directly to a Goodreads page that asked me to accept a friend request from him. I didn’t know that was a thing. I declined the request, but then noticed it also had him “following” my reviews, which I also didn’t know was a thing. So I went to find who else follows my reviews — and it’s him and That Guy, plus two other people I don’t know.
Fucking Internet.
I don’t write reviews, so it’s not as if there’s anything to follow, but I locked down my Goodreads, anyway.
I’m almost positive That Guy friend-requested me on Goodreads a million years ago, and when I declined, Goodreads automatically did the “follow” without him even realizing; he’s likely never noticed because I don’t post anything there. So I’m not implying that he’s, like, stalking my reading list — that would be dumb. The sequence of events was just freaky.
I never mentioned that Elbows Guy had the same name as my ex.
But let’s say my ex’s name is John — Elbows Guy was a grown-ass man who chose to go by “Johnny.” That was enough of a departure to clear him for a first date, but in hindsight I don’t know what I was thinking. Moaning “Johnny” in bed was not gonna work for me, just generally. But also, my ex’s family called him Johnny when he was a kid, and occasionally as an adult at family gatherings. So in any sexual context, Johnny has “ick” all over it. (Johnny Castle notwithstanding.)
So of course today I get a nice enough first message from a different OkCupid guy, and I’m thinking, “Huh. This is pretty good, I’ll probably respond,” but then toward the end he says, “By the way, my name’s ‘That Guy.'”*
Of course it fucking is.
I gotta stop screwing around with guys with common names. Next guy I get naked with has to be named, like…Moonbeam.
*If you’ve just followed recently, That Guy is the pseudonym I assigned to a guy who hurt me pretty badly, and when I used to talk to friends about him, they’d be like, “Oh, THAT guy…”
As I mentioned, Elbows Guy emailed me back after I’d told him his comment bugged me.
Here’s what I’d said, between other things we’d been discussing, one of which was a second date:
“You tell me if you end up free Tuesday, and I’ll tell you if my ashen elbows and I can join you. Sound good? (Can you tell I took that far too seriously and now wonder if you’re a. Mean, or b. Will think/say things about the rest of my body if ever you see it?) :)”
His response, also among other topics:
“You definitely are reading too much into the elbows thing. It was just a simple observation since your skin is really soft and your elbows were a little rougher (I suspect from resting them on your desk while in hardcore writing mode). It’s the little details like that which I find fascinating in people, especially women, since they usually have a story to tell.
“Your (a) vs (b) question is actually the same question – ‘is this guy a judgey asshat who’s going to make fun of me and my quirks in order to make up for his own insecurities and fragile ego?’ And the answer to that is no. I have a very thick skin and will occasionally say something without thinking how someone not similarly thick-skinned will take it, but I’m not a judgey asshat. I have a sneaking suspicion that was not the case with one or more of the guys you have recently dated.”
Ahem…
1. I pay a nice lady to be my therapist. I don’t need you and your degree from the Lifetime Movie School of Emotional Trauma.
2. I HAVE projected from previous men I’ve known, but I’m usually self-aware enough to recognize it. (Like when you called me “Miss” the other day and my brain spasmed because that’s what That Guy called all the faceless, interchangeable women in his harem — THAT was projecting. I knew it, and I shut it down.)
3. I don’t lean on my desk while I’m writing. My elbows are just shitty. (And way to double down on telling me so.)
4. “I’m not a judgey asshat, but I’m gonna point out your faulty sentence construction.” (I know he’s right. Shut up.)
Sometimes my brain goes all River-Tam-batshit-banana-pants-at-the-end-of-Serenity — swinging weapons around in a circle to fight off whoever comes near her. Whenever I’ve stuck that feeling out because, “I might be overreacting,” I really can’t remember a time my brain was wrong.
Heading to dinner with friends in the town I used to live in. The town in which I’d kissed/gone out with/done things with my ex, and then with That Guy, in various locations.
*deep breath*
“Lamictal be with you.”
“And also with you.”
$3 margaritas will probably also help.
I’ve been talking to other “open relationship” guys on OkCupid, because apparently I’m open-minded now (?), and motherFUCK me — leave it to me to find a Clinger in an open relationship.
How are you texting me every day, morning and night? Go text your main Bunny, Hef. The point of me exploring this option was that I wouldn’t meet clingy people. How have you pushed a potential sidepiece to my “Please stop talking” threshold in less than 4 days? Do you have to have the open relationship because you talk too much for one woman to handle?
I get the sense his lady has had more success with this setup than he has.
He asked if I was OK because my most recent texts haven’t been as enthusiastic or flirtatious, so I mentioned I was at work, and still debating if I can handle the open relationship.
He’s still talking, “joking” that it’s OK if I just want to be friends, but that I’ll change my mind when I meet him.
OK, Karma, you’ve made your point: I behaved like a desperate, slutty Clinger with That Guy. I realized that on my own, and have tried to adjust accordingly, even with friends (minus the “slutty” bit). Are we done here?
And good work, dude — congrats on being the reason I go back to giving people a Google Voice number instead of my real one.
Thankfully there’s still another open-married guy. Hee. We like him — he’s dreamy and wants to go down on me. I’ll have to name him. Probably, like…”Matt Trimony.” Heh. I’m clever.
Smug Singleton 