Olive, an Olive, and a Breakup

My darling Will has broken up with his boyfriend of a year, which hooo boy could I say a few thousand extra juicy words on the subject of Will's Ex, but won't out of respect for Will and any future book deals this blog might garner me¹. Last night we dragged him out to our friend's place for a glutton-tastic Easter dinner party.

I've discovered that eating an outrageous amount of cholesterol is Hangover Fairy Repellent. Between my grandmother's torta salata recipe², a metric buttload of deviled eggs, potato salads, pierogies, and various other Easter foodstuff involving eggs, cheese, meat or some combination thereof, I think my liver is protesting at the insane amount of cholesterol ingested last night instead of giving me grief for the equally large amount of alcohol we used to wash it all down. Either that or I'm going to have a retroactive hangover 3 days from now.


Will managed very well for his inaugural Post Breakup social outing, and he had plenty of hugs at the ready from myself and our girl friend Olive for those moments when the facade slipped and that bleak panic filled black hole tried to suck him under.

Olive is a whip smart, vivacious blond smart ass with some amazing boobs. Thanks to her Ukrainian heritage, she can also drink me under the motherfucking table. One memorable round saw us snogging in a bar, as drunken logic dictated that if we pretended we were girlfriends, sketchy sleezeballs would stop bothering us. Right on, Einstein. Two girls getting their lesbo on with each other is complete anathema to the male libido, right up there with wet t-shirt contests & strip bars in causing gross penile shrinkage.

Another friend of mine, Er Politico, also joined us despite claims the previous night that he probably wouldn't be able to make it. I've known Er Politico for somewhere in the vicinity of 9 years, and I count him amongst the group of people who were fundamental in aiding me through the NRA II: RNRA. He is king of the double entendre and teasing in general, occasionally taking it a bit too far.

Last night he was teasing the everliving shit out of me for this wee liason I have going on³. In jest, I chucked an olive at him, which for some reason I failed to notice was covered in oil. (It was early, so I can't plead wine-sanity. Maybe old age...?)

It hit the button  placket on his black shirt and holy shit, he lost it. I have never seen him so pissed off, and I have never seen him so pissed off at me. A completely irrational exaggeration for such a small mishap. It was a fucking black shirt, for Dog's sake. And it was night. But no, 'twas idiota this and schema that. I apologised and tried to smooth the waters over but he was having none of it.

This. was. ridiculous. Fuck it. He could either accept the apology or not. I let him cool down a bit and made my apology again, which this time he did accept, possibly prompted by the fact that everyone thought he was exaggerating without cause.

Olive & Will, amongst others, think he is jealous of my liason guy and thinks he's been carrying a torch for me for a while, hence the outburst. Whoops. I seriously need a Guide Dog for Guys That Are Interested, because I apparently have a huge blind spot in this area.

But I've been stewing a bit over this stupid olive incident today. Shithead would pull the same type of crap. Calling me stupid or dumb or making me metaphorically get on my knees to beg for forgiveness, usually over petty things. Once I started to get my head screwed back on properly, I swore that if a guy called me any flavour of dumb or stupid & pulled that emotionally abusive crap, I would lay him out flat and be out the door like a rocket. I sort of didn't expect this from someone who I consider a friend.

Meh.

The Olive Incident did prompt one bit of hilarity, though. The trajectory of the olive dripped a bit of oil onto Olive's shirt, which later prompted some comment about olives between your legs. Olive leans over & whispers in my ear

"I'm only interested in olives between my legs if it's a euphemism for my engorged clitoris"

And that's how Olive got her Blog Nickname.


¹ Yes, that last bit is pure snark. Unless of course you are holding a publishing contract with bountiful remuneration for authors in your hand, in which case have your people call my people. We can do lunch.
² 5lbs. of ricotta, 12 hard boiled eggs plus another dozen in dough & filling, and equally ridiculous amounts of various salamis and cheeses. I cut the recipe & half and still came out with 2 good sized pans.
³ Yes, I know I need to give him a nickname soon.