A single round to the back of the head is all that I ask. No, really, I’m serious about it, because I’m obviously not doing myself any good by continuing to live. (No, I’m not suicidal, let me explain.)
Waaaaaaay back in April (those of you who know where this is going may skip ahead to the next paragraph) I meet this really nice gal (whom I’ll refer to as X). Or so I think. I bust my ass to get her to notice me, do everything I can to get a relationship going, and the day after I tell X how I feel, etc., etc, X blows me off for a guy I’ll refer to as Mr. Ass Vomit. Great. Well, I’ve been fucked over before, and after the appropriate amount of time spent drowning my sorrows in scotch, I’m all better. Or so I think.
X calls me up periodically to tell me how things are with her and Mr. Ass Vomit. I find out that Mr. Ass Vomit is an ex-junkie, hasn’t worked a steady job in years, has a kid (or kids) somewhere, and treats her great. My brain says, hmm, Mr. Ass Vomit, is worthless piece of shit and is a dead-beat dad, plus has a few other problems. Now when X calls, I’m always “short and sweet”, figuring that she’ll get the hint. Nope.
So right after the first of the month, X calls to tell me she’s pregnant with Mr. Ass Vomit’s kid and that he inherited lots of property from a relative and they’re going to be moving out of state and living there. I’m thinking that, hey, perhaps Mr. Ass Vomit isn’t as bad as I thought, and I’ll now never have to worry about her calling me once they move out of state. I’m friendlier than I normally am and say the usual comments one would make if a friend were to call one with similar pronouncements. Then comes Monday.
I get a call from X and she says in one giant rush, “I’ve left Mr. Ass Vomit, had an abortion, and am moving back into my parents house, do you mind if I come over to your place and bring you some scotch and we both get really fucked up while I tell you what happened?” Stupidly, I agree. I mean, come on, I’ve got to find out what’s going on here.
X shows up, hands me the scotch and some “herbal” medicine. Then, X begins to tell me the story of what all happened. It turns out that Mr. Ass Vomit is a bigger piece of shit than I imagined. X tells me that she realized she’d be screwed if she had Mr. Ass Vomit’s kid as he wasn’t taking care of all the others he had, and that there were lots of problems in the relationship. I actually manage not to laugh in her face. I tell her that she didn’t deserve what happened to her, and we spend the rest of the evening with me drinking the scotch (she doesn’t like alcohol), enjoying our “herbal” medicine, and talking about what all’s happened to us since we last saw one another. She announces that she has to leave, I offer her the couch because if she’s too fucked up to drive, I don’t want her behind the wheel. She says she’s fine and leaves.
I’ve had a bottle of scotch at this point, plus the “herbal” medicine, so I’m tired. I go to bed, two hours later, I’m wide awake. Yep, I’m thinking about her. I can’t go back to sleep for hours. When I wake up, I’m cranky and agitated. I spend the whole day that way. When I go to bed that night, I can’t sleep. Tonight, I drink some more scotch (different bottle, of course) and try to sleep. Nope. No luck. Can’t do it. Why? Because fucking X has got me wound up again! I’d written her off and not been bothered by her at all until she showed up at my door. (My own fault, I know.)
Somebody kill me, wouldja? She’s not worth worrying about and I can’t get her out of my damn head now that I know that she’s back in circulation.
