02 June 2004

Life is Weird

Deeply weird.

So I've been shockingly remiss in updates here, but I haven't really felt the urge to verbally exsanguinate on the foibles and follies of my life. Too busy trying to get my head around them, I guess. Lucky you, I have a few spare minutes to sum up recent and not so recent events while I wait for a website to finish downloading.

Flash back to December if you will, 6 months into yet another interminable period of dating the Energizer Bunny. *Does the old school Wayne's World hand wavy thing*

My ex-fiance (hereby affectionately known as the Enemy, Destroyer of Queens, Angel of Broken Hearts, Great Beast that is called Weasel, Prince of Thieving Bastards, Father of Liars, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Mindgames. Or Shithead for short) sent me yet another text message. Like clockwork, every 3-4 months the little fucker tries some way of contacting me, supposedly with the intent of "being friends." And then he acts all confused and hurt when I, in various ways, express that I don't want to be friends, fuckwit, because you dumped my ass in one of the most painful ways humanly possible three years ago.

Come to think of it, if he had pulled an Indiana Jones & the Temple of Doom and ripped my still beating heart out with his bare hands and thrown it under the passing traffic, it probably would have hurt less.

Anywho, I've caved in a grand total of 3 times to these requests to see me(ie once a year for those of you playing along at home). Each time it's fairly fucking obvious that "friendship" is not the underlying motive for these requests. Call it women's intuition, but there's a subtle sexually charged undercurrent of "I want more than friendship" in these meetings. Then again, maybe I'm reading too much into having to pluck his eyeballs out of my cleavage and off my ass. The first two meetings I was nice enough to hand him said eyeballs back.

This go-round I made the tactical error of meeting him at my place. At the time, due to various mind games being played which I won't get into here, it seemed like a good idea for me to be on my own territory. And blah blah blah mind games mind game mind games, I was doing ok in maintaining the fragile line between absolute psychotic bitch and friendly ex-girlfriend. Which is when I relaxed my guard and made the extraordinarily stupid move of agreeing to smoke a joint with him. Canadian weed.

Now, being blessed with colleagues in Amsterdam, I have partaken in the insanely strong Dutch hash without ever having set foot in the Netherlands as of yet. This shit was worse. As in "I think I'm having an out of body experience without ever leaving my body" type worse. I don't think he was expecting it to be that strong either, as we sat there like two stunned mullets for what seemed like hours. And then he kissed me and all bets were off.

We started making out like two teenagers who've just discovered that the house is empty and the porn channel is unlocked. When we let up I was quite surprised that we hadn't sucked each others lips clean off our faces. He left and I then proceed to mentally kick myself every five minutes for the next 24 hours. But only every five minutes because the other four I was busy thinking really really pervy thoughts.

Lesson #1: If you want to end a long periods of celibacy, just add Canadian weed and an ex-fiance. Make out like crazed weasels for an hour, then let it sit for a day. You'll be fucking each others brains out in no time flat.

So I had myself a fuck buddy for a while there. Or maybe that's better put as an ex with privileges. But just because I was sleeping with him doesn't mean I was getting these romanticised daydreams of getting back together and living happily ever after.

Well, only every once in a while.

I'd give myself a mental bitchslap, toot sweet, though and get back to the business at hand, namely obtaining multiple orgasms without mechanical or self aid. I was not in the mood for A) relationships B) mindgames (redundant, I know) C) messy complicated emotions or D) massive quantities of self-flagellation for sleeping with someone to whom I should have inflicted bodily injury instead. The name of the game was getting my freak on. Period. End of Story.

Since he left last summer, the original Mr. Boink Buddy has been occasionally emailing or calling me, sometimes veering into that grey territory of "Hm. Why the fuck did he say that?" also known as the Land of Hope He's Not Getting Serious On Me. I puzzled it over a bit with my friends and then shrugged it off, as it's pointless to obsess over little phrases uttered by a guy who is currently living an ocean away. Eventually, he said he'd be back in mid-May and, being a good little monogamous slut, I dumped Shithead when I found out, figuring a month of celibacy was child's play. And it was.

The night Mr. Boink Buddy came back ended up, predictably, with wild crazy monkey sex in a hotel (long boring story about why we ended up in a hotel goes here). In ultimate clichè style, lamps were knocked over, beds were bounced against walls, and the whole reunion resembled nothing so much as an orgiastic WWF match with volume set at "Ear-shattering".

Suffice to say I couldn't look the concierge in the face the next morning and walking proved to be a challenge for the next two days. After which I was blessed by that hallowed monthly feminine mystery that has some women worshipping their inner Goddess; me, I just want to rip my ovaries out with my bare hands. And I got a nasty summer cold to add to the feminine joys of bleeding out my crotch. Involuntary bodily excretions galore. Yippee.

So the snot and blood fest eventually passed and Monday night one of my friends came back from Germany. We went to the pub where Mr. Boink Buddy is always to be found for a bit of a piss up. Mr. Boink Buddy later in the night proceeded to play tonsil hockey with some chick. I'm rather surprised that I didn't inflict any bodily damage to his person, but in retrospect I think I was in shock. He wasn't anywhere near drunk, he knew I was there, and, as I've known him for 5 years, I would have never ever thought that he would pull a stunt like that.

Now I'm not even pretending that I'm in love with this guy, or that there's more to this relationship than carnal relations, or even that it's mutually exclusive, but shit dude, a little respect please?

Lesson #2: Boys suck. (This is a lesson, sadly, that I never seem to learn)

None of my other friends can quite believe this idiocy from Mr. Boink Buddy either. It's definitely bizarre and he knows he's royally fucked any chances of ever getting back in my pants again, as he came by the office yesterday for no apparent (business) reason and got the sub-zero shoulder treatment. I would have brained him upside the head with a pair of MacGyvered 3-button mouse nunchucks but the presence of others in the office unfortunately put the kibosh on that plan of action.

And here, my friends, is where life gets weird(er). This Friday & Saturday there is a conference for the industry I work in. Mr. Boink Buddy and Shithead* also work in this industry (think of this industry as high school, but more incestuous and with waaaay more alcohol and drugs). Friday night is welcoming cocktail and Saturday is the day long conference ending in dinner and mass annihilation of liver cells.

Yesterday as I was conceding myself one day of moping over the Mr. Boink Buddy Debacle, I received a text message. From Shithead obviously. He wanted to know if I was going to this conference (Let's see: flash a little cleavage, have males buy me drinks, and bring in the business partners? Duh. That's part of my job.) and if I wanted to go with him on Friday night.

Which is really funny as he's the competition. Actually I'm rather amused by several aspects of this new kink in my life. Could the timing be any more perfect? I think not. It's just a question of weighing the pros and cons.

Con: We'd be going on his motorcycle, so the skirt I was planning on wearing would not be an option.
Con: My boss would most likely not be very amused if I showed up with Shithead, and, even if my boss doesn't go to the welcoming party the town gossips would inform him first thing the next morning.
Pro: Mr. Boink Buddy would get a right smack on the gob, though.

That's a pretty big fucking pro right there. Tempting though it might be, it is a work shindig and the boss factor nixes going to the party with Shithead.

Leaving the party with him is an entirely different story...

* At this point I'm also seriously weighing the merits of swapping Mr. Boink Buddy's nickname with Shithead's...

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