Ugh, I am tempted to take myself to the Pit for a fine flaming because I’m clearly an unfit excuse for a human being. I not only very irresponsibly over-imbibed last night, I decided to use the telephone while I was at it. Not only did I use the telephone, I used it to call Ex-boyfriend of Extended Drama. Not only did I use it to call Ex-boyfriend of Extended Drama, I used it to call him at 4 am!
I am reasonably horrified with myself, not because I never do stupid things (in fact, sometimes I excel at them) but because it was an extra, extra dumb thing to do, and with proper care and feeding, the humiliation will last an extra, extra, extra long time. Quick set-up: The EbED and I dated for a smidge under 2 years and I often suspect him of being my soul mate. This said, we have had minimal contact for the last 6 months or so.
This has been an “on purpose” not speaking, for many, many, many excellent reasons. For one, it prevents any embarrassing outbursts like asking him things like “so do you think of me more as a friend or an ex?” (note: That is never an appropriate question, for one thing, you probably already know the answer, and for another, it implies that you care what the answer is.)
For Pete’s sake, it has been forever! He is dating another woman, I have dated other men. It has been so long that it doesn’t even twist my knickers that he’s shaggin’ another doll…I just have flashes of “Rachel on Friends-style breeziness” and then realize that I am the anti-it. I don’t think I said anything too ridiculous on the telephone, but it was a long conversation, and I am prone to ridiculousness at all times. It really just shot all kinds of holes in my “I am mature and suave and don’t have compulsive urges to call you in the dead of night”–image that I’ve put so much effort into. Damnit!
Don’t beat yourself up over it! It happens. Just remember there are plenty of us who know you’re a wonderful person regardless of your late-night dialings.
Besides, it’s been minimal contact for six months? That’s not that long.
Thanks guys, I can’t follow threads over the weekend, so I just checked back on this one.
dantheman, comforting words, but I should have mentioned that we officially split, er, last February?? In the interim we certainly toyed with the idea of getting back together, but by all counts we’ve been apart for over a year.
DeVena, thank you sugar! You got the nice Ben 'n Jerry’s kind.
Can we make bumper stickers out of “I will not drink and dial” ??? I feel like I’m out of the woods as far as this particular stunt is concerned. I am a little tempted to hide under a rock for the rest of my natural life, however, if I did have to make an ass of myself, at least EbED knows that I’m not actually the loon I conduct myself as…it could have been worse I suppose.
RTFirefly, aptly timed, thank you! I will go and tattoo it on the back of my hand!
If it makes you feel any better, here’s a story a friend of mine told me (yes, it really was a friend, and NOT me, thank heaven):
He overindulged heavily one night, as was/is his wont, and decide to send his ex-girlfriend, with whom he had recently broken up, an extended piece of his alcohol-sodden mind via e-mail. He wrote a long tirade, apparently including extremely specific and graphic descriptions of what they had done together and why the breakup was entirely her fault, and so on and so forth.
He awoke in the morning aghast that he had sent this letter. Checking his outbox, he was somewhat relieved to find that he had mistyped her address, and presumably the mail would bounce back to him.
But it didn’t bounce. Instead, he had by mistyping a letter of her address apparently stumbled upon HER MOTHER’S E-MAIL ADDRESS. He had sent the horrid missive to her MOTHER.
The only response he ever got was from the girlfriend, informing him of his error and saying something along the lines of, “Hey asshole, next time it’s a trip to Restraining Order City.”
panache, I’ve got so much I could share here… mostly a few “been there, done that”-type stories. I’ll have to figure out how much I want to embarass myself.
I just rememberd. Oh, I was repressing! That was it.
When the only gf I ever had and I broke up (she, not me!), we were working at the same place. I quit and moved south. Before I moved, I wrote a long, long letter, although I was sober at the time. I never heard anything back, which is good, but I was just dumb enough to save a copy for myself (this was pre-Internet), and I came across it the other day. Ick!
Panache, forget a bumper sticker – we need something like a Mr. Yuk sticker that you can put on the phone. Hmmm. I’ve read about those devices which won’t let you start your car if your drunk. Think someone could make money making a similar device for the phone?
jackelope, ahh, the poor bastard- I’m still snorting with laughter.
I think we ought to turn this thread into “Really ill-conceived plans involving drunk dialing.” All these stories are fantastic, and you know everyone has them. The time you picked up the phone on your 21st birthday and it was your mother (was she saying chug?)… or decided to switch your long distance plan, but called the humane society, or ahem tracked down people properly lost in the mists of time, dragging them kicking and screaming into the rum-soaked present.
