…and not with my female ex-roommate’s maturity.

The irony being – of course – that this ex-roommate broke up with her first girlfriend and began initiating her relationship with that exes cousin within a few hours of their breakup.  Then, after she and the cousin – predictably – broke up, she moved onto one of the cousin’s best friends.  I’m going to assume that this was also within a few hours.

No, that’s not some serial killer shit or anything.

Really though, what should you expect from people who work things out by having a falling out, ignoring one another for several months, and then sweeping everything under the rug?  It’s funny, because after reading through about 8 gajillion old posts I’ve made (between Livejournal, Blogger, and WordPress), I’ve noticed a pattern where I have a hell of a time picking friends.  Two themes, however, keep rearing their little heads:

1. The people in question causing more drama then they’re worth
2. The people in question have an inability to work things out with one another

I don’t think there is anything commendable about allowing people to walk all over you, treat you like shit, and then working out your issues with one another via a Facebook friend request.  This is doubly true if there is constantly some big drama between everyone a mere week or two prior to “working things out.”

In a similar vein, there is nothing shitty or bitchy or lacking in self-respect about demanding – much less expecting – an apology for certain behaviors.  There’s even less that is shitty or bitchy or lacking in self-respect about telling someone who has treat you in a shitty manner to fuck right off.  I give a lot of chances for people to redeem themselves, and that’s probably what’s done me in the most over the years.  After reading through, deleting, editing, and organizing several thousand posts from my old Livejournal and blogger accounts, these are the biggest themes I keep seeing.

The craziest thing is that – with some exceptions – I don’t even necessarily think many of the people I’ve encountered are doing it maliciously.  In most cases, I think they’re just not intelligent enough to see how inherently fucked their social interactions are.  Simply put: they’re children and they lack the understanding necessary to realize why they can’t function in society.

What does sadden me, however, is the fact that a lot of this shit has been perpetuated by women I know.  By women who are “feminists.”  Really?  How feminist is it to encourage bullshit competition between your fellow sisters?  How feminist is it to giggle about the back biting, shit talking, gossipy bullshit that hurts all women? Shit, man, it’s 2009.  I thought that sisterhood was supposed to mean something in our interactions with one another.  I thought we weren’t supposed to do this shit anymore.

I’m the first to admit that I am not perfect or that I have acted in a 100% truly supportive manner, but the way some would tell it, my more recent political shift (which aren’t mutually exclusive from feminism) somehow makes me a latent misogynist.  When, fuck, I’m one of the few that has tried to make a supportive environment for those who need it.  There is nothing unreasonable, fucked up, or shitty about wanting to engage in an honest dialogue with others, which means that we won’t always agree on shit.

I know it seems to be the consensus that the only productive discussion is one in which everyone agrees with you, but there is a distinct difference between respectful disagreement and nasty little digs accusing others of having their self-respect packed away in a box.  The photo that began this post may seem like it’s dredging up “ancient history” (read: shit that everyone wants to sweep under the rug), but the reality is that it’s symbolic of so much shit from the past two years.  It is far more telling than any amount of poorly executed trolling could ever be, and the reactions to it are also far more telling than the reactions to any amount of poorly executed trolling.

And although none of us want to believe that we are in the wrong – especially when it seems that our misguided stubbornness is the one of the few things we really have left – I find it very hard to believe that it’s all my fault.  The answer is more complicated and nuanced then “Drunkenatheist is a mean cunt,” and I think that it’s important to keep that in mind.

—-

If you’re reading this from my Facebook notes, please go to the original blog post (located here) to comment.

I mean, I guess I could rant about how Obama needs to accept that he received the country is such crap condition that he could very well be a one term president, so he should act accordingly (hai “PBA” ban!); I could also complain about how Ron Paul is anti-big federal government except when it comes to abortion (cause that’s just ooky); I could go into a long, extended rant about no matter how much Libertarian Boyfriend and I see eye to eye, our class backgrounds will prevent us from agreeing on economic issues; I could rant about how I just sat in (what feels like) spray adhesive; I could rant about how much class matters and how entitled white brats make me want to slam their heads into something over. and over. and over again; I could weigh in on the whole Meghan McCain/Laura Ingraham debate (for the record: never thought I’d love a republican as much as I’m lovin’ Meghan McCain); I could post about any of the wonderful things I love about Libertarian Boyfriend; I could freak out about the economy; I could talk about silly things like ethics; I could make a list of 100 facts about me; I could go into an extended rant about what exactly “shooting oneself in the foot” means; I could talk at length about how I shop like a dude and how I don’t want to hear small talk, I just want to get in and out with my purchases and be about my merry way; I could bitch about how my being blunt is perceived to be harsh and mean; I could complain about how I miss a few certain individuals who I haven’t seen in awhile, but our schedules make it a bit prohibitive to hang out regularly; I could post a thinly veiled, passive-aggressive little rant directed at those whose stupidity makes me want to put my hands around their throats and squeeze until their eyes bulge out (and if you think that’s serious, you’ve obviously never seen my weak little grip use a garlic press); I could talk about Libertarian Boyfriend and my theories on child rearing; I could talk about what a surreal experience it is to realize you’re going to be 30 in less than a month; I could bitch and complain and throw an e-tantrum about how everyone is a hypocrite and how much that realization blows donkey balls; or I could put up a string of videos to keep you all ever so entertained.

But honestly? I’m so fucking emotionally and physically drained right now that none of that shit is happening. (Well, with the exception of a possible list of 100 facts. That might entertain me enough to write it up. Oh, and the “I think I sat in spray adhesive” thing. Cause seriously? My ass is now gummy. WTF?) I think I should possibly make an attempt to write about some of these subjects, especially given that I’ve had a few of them bouncing around my head for awhile – namely anything involving class disconnect.

So, instead, have some Mickey Avalon. Because that’s happy times.

Rule #2: If you’ve broken rule #1, which you probably have if you need my help, don’t respond to Crazy’s text messages, Facebook wall posts, phone calls, or emails.

Rule #3: Don’t continue to stick your dick (metaphorical or otherwise) into Crazy.

Rule #4: Don’t get high and allow Crazy to talk you into a relationship.

Rule #4a: Certainly don’t get high and get into a relationship with Crazy after Crazy has done some decidedly crazy shit.

Rule #5: Do make out with your new suitor in front of Crazy when Crazy shows up to your house while you are orgasming.

Rule #6: Make sure that the follow up to Crazy has a concealed carry permit.

Rule #6a: Make sure that the follow up to Crazy has a deep commitment to lulz.

Rule #6b: Make sure that the follow up to Crazy is very aware that Crazy could explode all over you while dealing with the never ending saga of your relationship fall out.

Rule #7: When your love interest jumps out of bed after you’ve been talked into a relationship so s/he can update their relationship status on Facebook, you may have accidentally stuck your (metaphorical or otherwise) dick into Crazy.

Rule #8: Don’t break up in a private place.

Rule #9: Make sure that your mutual friends (the ones Crazy will need to lean on after you’ve had the blow out “GTFO OF MY LIFE” fight) don’t get high really often, or Crazy might show up on your doorstep.

Rule #10: Don’t flip out on Crazy.  Rather, wait for Crazy to have sabotaged his/her life so much that everyone else sees how crazy Crazy is.  This may include, but is not limited to, the following: mutual friends, former lovers, their friends, coworkers, family, customers, pets, people walking down the street.  You get the drift.

After all, it can’t be the other person?  Can it?

Then the other person does something so batshit crazy that virtually EVERYONE you know is coming up to you and telling you that they are, indeed, the crazy one.  It’s really not you.  It’s really not all in your head.  The other person does some fucked up, sick,  psychotic, hurtful and cruel shit.  And they’ve all seen it.  You’re not the one who has embarrassed herself.  It’s the other person.  You behaved about as well as could be expected in the situation.

And that, my friends, is vindication.  That is a situation where you realize who is important and who truly cares.

And this is when I honestly think I can forget her and her bullshit.  Her and the pain she’s caused me.  Her and her hateful mindfuck bullshit.  And I can finally move on.  I can finally date or have a one night stand without feeling racked with guilt that it might be too painful for her.  I can get through hours – and I know I’ll be able to soon get through days and weeks – without thinking about everything that has happened and how she ripped out my heart.

I honestly feel like I have my life back again.

Goodbye.

Yeah, that’s kinda how I feel.

Anyway.

Today, I received the most hilarious email. Read and enjoy:

Dear Drunkenatheist,

I am making an effort to be as calm as possible, but today I received a call from PGW, alerting me that “my account balance” was $501.26, accumulating from the electricity bill having not been paid in the last two months. Further, since the bill had gone unpaid for more than 60 days, this will effect my credit score. Accordingly, I have taken the account out of my name, but the balance needs to be paid by you as soon as possible. Me putting the account in my name was for convenience purposes only, similar to the lease; please do not abuse this privilege. I no longer have your phone number on my new phone, but when I retrieve my old phone in the next couple of days I will be giving you a call if the balance is unpaid.

Thank you,

Jim M******s

Now, kids, let’s pay attention to a few things. My PGW bill dated February 13th, 2008, reflects my payment from February 4th, 2008, of $300. This includes an overpayment of $56.66, which was carried over to this statement. (Although I love my gas dryer and range, HOLY FUCK IS THIS SHIT EXPENSIVE!) Please note that yesterday’s date was March 14th, 2008. Therefore, it is impossible that he received a phone call from PGW on March 14th that stated I was 60 days behind on a bill.

Next, assuming that the account was 60 days past due, no creditor in their right mind would let him just take his name off the account for the hell of it. He entered a contract with him and it really isn’t their fucking problem if he isn’t living here and he never bothered to properly switch the names on the accounts before he moved out. Also, I don’t think he could put my name on the account without my SSN, which he doesn’t have. If he does and he’s using my SSN for anything without my permission, I will contact a lawyer.

Third, he claims that the account was put into his name for “convenience.” BULLSHIT. He was too lazy to do much of anything with the moving out process and he only set up the gas and electric accounts after a screaming match. I told him that my name was to be on the accounts and I would be more than happy to speak with the reps if they needed me, but he was to make the phone calls (because he had barely done anything and was shoving most of the work onto me). He sulked off, made the phone calls and then responded with a flippant, “oh, I forgot” when asked if he was able to put me on without any info from me. Oh, and the implication that he was needed for the lease? Again, BULLSHIT. My dad consigned on the lease for me and my landlords would have let me rent the place myself with only my dad as a cosigner. I did not need ex-boyfriend’s help. But I will give him a gold star for the condescending “please do not abuse this privilege.” Tee hee!

Oh, and the threat to call me if the balance is paid? Suck my dick, dude. This whole email was a bullshit, psychotic ploy to talk to me. Granted, it did work, because he got two responses from me. The first informed him that he was never to contact me again and the second was a “you know, that’s not fair. You may contact me only about the PECO and PGW accounts and your name off/my name on them. I will only have written correspondence with you.”

Tee hee hee! I’m dying laughing over here about the whole thing because there’s so much that is bullshit about the whole situation. Never mind the fact that he needs to realize IF I HAD BEEN SEVERELY LATE ON UTILITY BILLS (which, again, I HAVEN’T), that is the risk you run by not getting your name off of shit. (Oh, and the claim that PGW is reporting this to credit agencies is precious, too. I’d like to know what credit agency is taking past due bills from MakeBelieveLand.)

Oh my. I love getting a dose of crazy ex-boyfriend insanity. I ought to scan in my PGW bill as well as the insane written letters he’s sent me. They’re just precious.

So. She thinks I might be bipolar and recommended I start seeing a therapist outside of Tuttleman.

How do I feel about this?

A. That’s hilarious.

No, really, I think it’s kinda funny. Granted, this doesn’t lend a whole lot of legitimacy to the idea that I *don’t* have some pretty decent mental/emotional issues. But whatev. You don’t understand how I process a lot of shit and how often I think things that aren’t funny really are.

B. Well, this explains a lot.

For example, a dear friend of mine was diagnosed as Bipolar II a few months ago. I saw nothing wrong with the way he would react to a lot of situations. Go figure, considering that I also have erratic mood swings and this is a strong possibility. It’s no wonder that I would think keying someone’s car is a rational response to simply not liking someone. (Not saying that the dislike wasn’t warranted, but still. That’s a little extreme.) I’ve always encouraged his behavior during manic episodes and, again, saw nothing wrong with the way he would act and react to a lot of things. It hasn’t been until recently that I’ve realized I would defend actions that weren’t rational and that he wouldn’t act super rational a lot of the time.

It also explains how I often go from happy and joking to ready to kill someone in a matter of seconds. It explains why, all of a sudden, I will get jittery and wired for no reason and start rambling for what seems like forever. It explains why, when talking to people, I look at them like they’re high because they simply aren’t grasping the point I’m driving at. It explains why I can’t pinpoint what led up to me simply not being depressed anymore during certain periods in time.

C. It hasn’t really hit.

I think when it hits, it will be “ohhhhhh crap.” In all honesty, it’s not the end of the world. If I talk to a shrink and s/he tells me that’s the case, I’ll simply get on a med regiment and go to therapy. No big deal, especially since I can get free therapy at school.

D. YES! SOMETHING THAT IS ADA COVERED!

OMG you don’t know how exciting that part is! And you don’t know how much weight and pressure that relieves. There’s something good about HW!

So, I’ve decided to be really honest about all of this, partially because I don’t really give a shit if everyone knows and also because I think even one person’s honesty about mental & emotional issues helps make it visible. And if it’s visible, it’s harder to dismiss and harder to keep stigmatizing.

In my quest to learn more, I have been reading a shitload of BPII. Today’s search took me to the Bipolar Disorder forum on HealthBoards.com. And, I’m just sayin, it was actually pretty helpful, especially posts on the inability to hold a job and feeling like you might go into a murderous rage at any second. So this isn’t the worst thing in the world.

I know you are truly a good person below all of your issues. And I know it probably scares the living shit out of you that other people might really care or that you might actually be able to do something with your life besides getting drunk out of your mind every time you have a few bucks to spare. I wish you could just see this and realize that you need a lot of help. But to do that, you need to be honest with yourself, with your therapist and with your friends. I know you didn’t want me to leave, but you need to understand that I cannot live in fear that you’re going to fuck me over. You’ve pulled shit like this on me before, but never to this extent. I know you are very sick and need treatment right now, but you have to understand that you have put me in a very serious position. Because of your actions, I now might not be able to afford anything for the next few weeks. I have to borrow another student loan before I was ready to do so because you needed money.

And trust me, I don’t blame only you. I blame myself for not trying to understand your issues. I blame myself for forking over money because I thought you would do the same if I were in that position. I blame myself for staying with you and throwing your life into more chaos even though you asked me to live there. I blame myself for not leaving at the beginning of the month (when I had planned to do so). I am so angry in part because I feel like I should have known better and every time SDC reminds me that I should have known better, I get angry with him because he’s right. You’ve put me in a position where the only thing I can do is hate you or else I will want to call or email you to make sure you are okay. The night that everything blew up, I was simultaneously angry and scared to death, but not for the reasons you might think. I knew SDC would let me stay with him, because that’s the type of friendship we’ve always had. I’ve always known I could count on him when it really mattered. I was scared because I thought you were choking down half a bottle of tranqs. I almost called the cops for a suicide watch on you because I was scared to death that you might try to hurt yourself. And when I lashed out at you the next day, it was because I was so angry that you had worried me for no damn reason at all.

If you didn’t want me there, you could have just told me instead of using the one thing you could hold over my head to put me in my place. And I can’t totally fault you for not just telling me, because I know you are so sick that you couldn’t rationally see that. In your head, there is no grey area, only mania and depression.

As angry and frustrated as I still am with you, I can’t help but fight back the urge to call or message you just to make sure you’re okay. I almost wish you would contact me with “fuck off” just so I’d know you weren’t the best friend I’ve known and loved for years. Just so I’d know that you are too far gone to talk to me.

You’ve put me in a strange position, Gay Best Friend, and I wish you understood how much this bothers me. I can’t help you. I fully understand that now, but I want you to get help. I want you to realize that there are at least several people out there who care and who want you to become healthy. And once you strip away all the bullshit and all the past traumas and just the past in general, I hope you can see this. I hope you can realize that you deserve to function like a “normal” person. I wish you the best of luck and I hope we can be close again. I hope to — as SDC put it — have you at the kitchen table one day. Unfortunately, I don’t see it happening.

Please prove me wrong for once.

Why did he do it? We’re not totally certain. New Boyfriend and I have a few theories on why he did it, but nothing is confirmed. SDC came with us when we moved everything out and wanted “Gay Best Friend” and I to have a talk afterwards. That, my friends, was a complete mess.

For the time being, we are living at SDC’s place. Internet functions pretty well there, but cell phone signals are terrible. We are also far away from everything. We’re looking for a slightly more permanent option, but it is difficult given that most of our friends’ leases are up pretty soon and it’s not exactly easy to call anyone (considering the whole “issues with cell phone use” thing).

This is a very strange time in my life. As I have said on Facebook, I’m convinced my life operates on five year cycles and I could easily find the parallels if you gave me a few days/a week. I’m just a little too old for this shit, you know?

On my way home from school (while still in Jersey), I was almost run off the road by a stupid psycho. I say “stupid” because he was driving a work van with the company’s name and number on it. Yeah, like I am not gonna send them a letter.  I’m pretty certain he threw a temper tantrum because he didn’t like my “Respect Life: Don’t Murder Doctors” and “Just Say No to Sex With Pro-lifers” stickers, although I’m sure “If God is the answer, it must have been a very stupid question” put the nail in the coffin, so to speak.

Letter has been drafted and will be printed to be mailed ASAP. No, I’m not stupid enough to put my return address on it- I think the fucking looney was set off by my bumper stickers. Considering that I seriously started to think he might try to follow me home, I don’t think it would be wise to sign with anything besides my first initial and my last name.

November 22, 2004

Term-A-Pest Inc
PO Box 5452
Deptford, NJ 08096
ATTN: Owner

Dear sir/madam:

This morning, I was almost run off the road by one of your drivers. I am a student at Gloucester County College, and was en route to my home between 8:30 – 9:00 am on Tuesday, November 22, 2004. As I was making a right-hand turn onto Mantua Ave from Center Ave. (in Sewell/Mantua area), I noticed one of your drivers was behind me, also making the right hand turn. I accelerated to around 40 mph (which is the speed limit along that section of Mantua Ave.). As I glanced in my rearview mirror, I saw that your driver was tailgating me, so I sped up to 45 mph. Your driver continued to tailgate me for several minutes, along a passing zone. After about 2 minutes, he decided to pass me. He pulled into the left-hand lane and I slowed back down to 40 mph, to give him ample room to pass me. Although I had given him plenty of room to get in front of me, he chose to drive in the last hand lane for about 30 seconds, during which time I slowed down a little more to give him more room to pass me.

When he got in front of me, he suddenly hit his brakes and came to a complete stop. Since I had assumed he was making a turn without a turn signal, I waited behind him (he gave no indication of his intentions). Then, he decided to pull off onto a side street (again, with no indication that he was going to do so). Since he was pulled over, I continued to drive down Mantua Ave. When I looked in my rearview again, he was pulling back onto Mantua Ave., which concerned me because it appeared that he was following me. I continued to drive to Route 45. When I got to Rt. 45, I tried to get away from him as quickly as I could, because I wasn’t certain if your driver was going to attempt to follow me home, if he was going to try to cause an accident with me or if it was completely innocent. Once on Route 45, he paced me. Although I was trying to ignore him and pay attention to the road, it seemed as if he was trying to get my attention. I pulled off at the jughandle at Ogden Rd. in Oak Valley so I could get to 295 in West Deptford. When I did so, I was relieved to see that he hadn’t followed me.

While I was driving through the jughandle, someone was trying to make a left-hand turn out of the Dunkin Donuts on Rt. 45. I stopped to let them get in front of me, and YOUR DRIVER WAS RIGHT NEXT TO THEM! He pulled into the Dunkin Donuts so he could scream, “You’re friggin psychotic” to me.

My assumption is that your employee did not like my bumper stickers and chose to react in a very emotionally charged manner. This behavior is completely unacceptable and unprofessional from any representative from a company. Because of your driver’s behavior, I will strongly discourage all of my friends and family from using or recommending Term-A-Pest to their friends or business associates.

Unfortunately, I was not able to get the license plate number of the vehicle he was driving. The only identifying information I have is that he was Caucasian and appeared to be in his early to mid 30’s and was driving a Mazda truck with your company’s name and toll-free number on it. However, rest assured that if I EVER experience a situation like this again from any of your employees, I will be certain to get their license plate number and report in to the police. I do not appreciate having my safety compromised in any way because your drivers can’t behave themselves behind the wheel. I hope that you will be able to find the employee in question and address this situation in its appropriate manner.

Thank you very much for your time.

Sincerely,

Drunkenatheist

I only put the blip about coming from GCC to give them an idea of where exactly I was. I may not have the fuckhead’s plate number or name, but I’ve got a detailed enough description of what happened to (hopefully) get this fucking nutcase in a shitload of trouble. I may not remember everything I need to buy at the grocery store, but goddamnit, I can remember exactly what socks I was wearing on an un-important day over a year ago. Pot and liquor may kill brain cells, but I haven’t smoked that much weed in my lifetime.

Oh, and I wasn’t playin’ in the letter. If you’re from or have family in South Jersey, I wouldn’t use Term-A-Pest for my exterminating needs- do you really want someone like that in your home or business? He might see something else he doesn’t like and throw a fucking hissy fit!