I've been technically single for a long, long time. If there was a phrase to use that actually epitomized how long it's actually been without making me sound like there's dust bunnies in my vagina I would use it. More or less I've been on the trolling for dick train for quite a while. This means that the amount of horrible dating stories I have is too tragic to even compile. I hate dating more than I hate terrorism. Honestly, I'd rather be water boarded than deal with this dating bullshit.
However, my favorite part of dating is the break up. I know that sounds like a defense mechanism that I'm using to avoid talking about my grief and heart ache. But no joke, I stick it out until I literally can't stand to see that person's face for one more second. I let them fester like an open wound and drive me to the point of upping my meds and alcohol intake by 40%. If you know anything about me that amount would kill most. For some reason I feel like if I keep them around until the next step could only be a murder suicide then somehow I'm some kind of fucked up relationship martyr. To sum this all up, once I'm done with them I wish they could be sucked into some vortex and moved to another universe where everyone has herpes. I clearly don't hold grudges.
Since I have yet to discover how to vortex these sons of bitches out of my universe, I'm unlucky enough to run into them when I least expect it. Example one, running into the mama's boy I dated at CVS when I was on the verge of either puking my guts out or shitting my pants. As I tried to duck down behind a maxi-pad display clutching my economy sized container of Pepto Bismol and every kind of over the counter cough medicine the store had, I prayed that my intestine would cooperate with me just this once and I would never eat a burrito again. At least two women walked by in sweat pants and gave me looks of pity as I crouched there for what felt like hours. Usually I would have thrown a camel toe insult their way but at that moment in time they actually were better than me. I had butt crack sweat for god's sake. You win ladies, you win.
Example number two, running into Chris, the one who'd had his penis in every 18-year old raver in Orange County. I was nursing one of the worst hangovers I had ever had, literally sweating Jager and silently apologizing to my liver for putting her through so much. I had on my dress from the night before and smelled like I had rolled around in smoke, urine and a little bit of ass. I decided to run into a liquor store to buy some water before my brain exploded and my adorable new car turned into a Law & Order crime scene. As I stared blankly at my 20 different water choices (seriously why the fuck are there so many different kinds of bottled water?) I heard a familiar voice coming from directly behind me. The brain cells that I had left screamed at me not to turn around. The ones that were clearly still partying must have been controlling my limbs because I turned around. There he was. That tall, skinny, son of a bitch. Now I probably still could have gotten away at that point but of course I made some weird noise that was a hybrid between a dry heave and a nervous giggle. Eye contact was made and before he could say anything I said "I'm doing great thanks!" in the highest voice that has ever come out of me and bolted out of the store. This is the first time I realized I am a freak. Who tells someone how they are doing without the person asking? I guess I really showed him that I was better off without him. Idiot.
A few months ago I was kind of seeing this guy, PW. PW was hot. Like smokin hot. I generally tend to avoid dating super attractive people because they take too much energy. Also I kind of prefer to be the more attractive one. Then they can worry about me upgrading since clearly I can. Anyway, I had a super big crush on this guy. Did I mention he was hot? Also, because life isn't fair, he was funny and kind of nerdy and had these cute little freckles on his nose. I want to barf just thinking about him. I completely messed up my system. I texted him first and then checked my phone 10 times a day to see if he'd texted me back. Then, instead of waiting an hour to text him back like a smart girl would, I was lucky if I could wait 4 seconds. What a loser right? One night, after a little too much wine and an overdose on doritos, I texted him with the whole "What are we?" question. I'm pretty sure I already mentioned that life isn't fair, but just to reiterate, of course the response I received was "It's not you, it's me". Get a gun.
Since I had clearly given him the power during our short relationship, I was NOT giving him the power when we had our inevitable run in. No fucking way. For the next three weeks I never left the house in less than a god damn prom dress and full hair and make-up. I was the best dressed person walking their dog at 6:00am. Take that you jogging whores in your sweatpants. I kept thinking the run-in would happen and it never did. Then I did the stupidest thing I possibly could and got comfortable. After a 3 hour boozefest at my house a few friends and I decided to head to the bar where I met PW. The sober part of my brain probably knew this was a bad idea, but the drunk part of my brain that approved of my partially slutty outfit was ready to do this.
I get to the bar, I'm feeling good. About an hour in, still no PW sighting. Alright I thought, bring on the shots let's get this shitshow really going. The moment I realize, maybe it's time to switch to beer (water is never an option), I spot him at the bar. We make eye contact. I'm trying to decide what I'm going to say. Should I mention a new fake boyfriend? Start laughing with my friends at a non-existent joke? Lick someone's face? I didn't even need to worry about it because he just turned around and walked away. I should have just realized I dodged a bullet and snuck out the back door. But that would be what a sane person would do. I on the other hand decided to follow him outside and spy on him. Let's fast forward past the seeing him with another girl and taking tequila shots with her and laughing that laugh I really liked a lot. We'll fast forward right to me having a drunk, public mental breakdown outside the bar. Yup, I was THAT girl. The girl that strangers walk by and think "I'm glad that's not me." The girl that a random drunk dude comes up and hugs and says something inspirational like "He's not worth it" while trying to figure out how he can get me blow him. I was every sorority girl's nightmare.
This is when I realized, running into an ex will NEVER go the way we want it to. So next time I'm just going to smile, take a deep breath, and punch that asshole in the face.