Drank a cup o' reality at 10:24 p.m. on Tuesday, Apr. 13, 2004
Do any of you remember Chris-who-can’t-kiss? Oh, I know that it has been a long time since you read of him. So, go back and refresh your memories about how immature and lame he was. Then be sure to ask me repeatedly why I was even bothering being polite to him.
Oh, yeah, I was being polite because he coaches hockey with Mr. Math.
Saturday night was a dozy and it didn’t even have to be.
I had plans with Sarah and for the first time in a long time I was actually excited to go out. I knew that Mr. Math was away for the weekend so I wasn’t worried about a potentially awkward run-in with him. I haven’t really even been out since he and I “broke-up” and it just felt like it was time. Plus, as the night before Easter it was assured to be a packed house.
Sarah and I went for dinner at a local bar and grill. While there Chris-who-can’t-kiss appeared like my long lost best friend saddling up in the booth next to me and asking how I was. I played nice, as he is Mr. Math’s buddy and all, plus I have seen him at a few hockey games and I’ve always been sure to say Hi and be polite. Emphasis on polite- not friendly. Chris asked for a ride up-town for himself and 2 buddies. Sarah was driving and obliged. While in the car he asked about Mr. Math’s whereabouts; I informed him that Mr. Math was with family, away. And then it started, “So, what is up with you two? Are you gonna’ get married or what? From what I hear you two are ‘housin’ it all the time! I hear that you and Mr. Math get it on all the time. I think you two should just get married already…. etc.” My responses went from, “You don’t really think I’m gonna’ answer that question?!” to laughing to, “I don’t know, why don’t you talk to Mr. Math about that?” I was trying to be a good sport. Mostly I didn’t think that it was my place to tell his friends about us, or the lack thereof. I also didn’t think that Chris-who-can’t-kiss was entitled to that conversation. I simply wasn’t his business, so I laughed it off and I allowed the assumption.
Yes, I allowed the assumption because I miss Mr. Math (whether I should or not isn’t the question) and I know that we hardly talk anymore but that breaks my heart; and it was nice to hear someone outside of my immediate circle of confidants tell me that Mr. Math and I are good together. Because we were.
So, whatever, we got uptown and all scattered in different directions. Upon leaving the car Chris-who-can’t-kiss said, “Hey, Spunky, be sure to give me a ride home. Let’s be sure not to ditch each other.” Or something to that effect. Throughout the evening he checked in repeatedly to make sure that I was still gonna’ give him a ride. And when I say repeatedly I mean at least 10 times.
At 1:30 AM after being hit on by a particularly lame, inarticulate and disgusting 21-year-old, I was ready to go. I was missing Mr. Math and the knowledge that said 21-year-old would not have come anywhere near me he had been there. Quite frankly the rest of the night would not have happened if Mr. Math had been there- friendship or no friendship, relationship or no relationship.
Chris-who-can’t-kiss was completely plowed and informed me of that repeatedly. He also quadruple checked that I was giving him a ride. I said, “Yep, and I’m ready to go now; as soon as you are ready we can leave, unless you have made other plans.” I hoped he had made other plans. But, no, he was ready to stumble out of the bar with me. When I say stumble I mean, I looked over a few times and thought, “Shit, I can’t carry him when he falls on his face in the street.”
Once in the car (Sarah’s- she had other arrangements, part of that scheme was for me to take the car) I asked him where he was living these days so that I could drop him at home. Being sober, sad and tired I was ready for home, jammies, teddy bear and bed. Chris-who-can’t-kiss had no intention of telling me where he had moved to. He was insistent that instead we go to my house and party for a while. Insistent. “Come on, I’ve never seen your house. Let’s go to your house, I want to go to your house. We can go to your house and I’ll just call a cab. Well, I can just sleep on your couch. We’re going to your house; we can party at your house. Let’s just go watch TV at your house.” He was like a fucking broken record. And so was I, “No, No, No, where do you live? No, No, No I don’t think so. That isn’t a good idea. You can not go to my house.”
Chris-who-can’t-kiss is a guy who I have known for at least 2 years. I have given him rides before, hung out with him, drank with him, and hooked up with him. Maybe I’ve never seen him that drunk, but he got creepy in a way I never would have predicted. I was grateful that I was sober, driving, and suddenly extremely grateful that he had made those earlier assumptions about Mr. Math and I.
I used those assumptions. And perhaps now Mr. Math is mad at me, but he wasn’t there and I was creeped out.
I told Chris-who-can’t-kiss that I would not under any circumstances take him to my house; in fact I threatened to take him to the old place he used to live or his Mom’s. It was then, when I started driving in that direction that it got weird. He grabbed me and started pawing at me. He said, “Look, Mr. Math doesn’t have to know.” I told him to get off. He responded with, “Look, I know that you really like Mr. Math and all, but…” at which point I cut him off. I looked him in the eye and said, “No, you don’t know how I feel about Mr. Math. I really love Mr. Math and all, so you can get the hell off of me now. He does have to know, and he won’t understand.”
It was then that he became belligerent in a mixed up way because he prefaced cursing me with, “So what, are you and Mr. Math gonna’ have babies and get married and live all happily ever after?” Right about that time I pulled into his old driveway and kicked him out. What really crawled under my skin was as he was getting out he had this was of twisting it all like I wanted to give him a ride, and that I had given him the impression that I wanted to hook-up with him. He was all mad that I had taken him away from his friends; at which point I offered to drive his ass back to the bar. I explained very calmly that I was just doing him a favor, trying to be nice and really it was only because he was a friend of Mr. Math that I even said Hi. His final words as I pulled out of the drive way were, “You know, Spunky, you’re a nice girl and all, but [insert tongue being stuck out here] and don’t do me any favors anymore.” I left him there and didn’t look to see if he got inside. I really didn’t care.
I went home pissed. I put on my jammies pissed; and curled up in bed pissed. Sarah came home later and I told her what happened; she joined me in being pissed. I fell asleep pissed and had pissed off dreams.
After thinking about it for a while I realized that it wasn’t just the stuff in the car that pissed me off. I was also upset, in the end, by the stuff earlier in the night. It was really really hard to sit there and listen to one of Mr. Math’s buddies talk about he and I. It was uncomfortable and embarrassing. Yes, I’m embarrassed by this whole situation; that is why I stay home so much these days. Embarrassed.
The stuff in the car was simply despicable. Hell, he was doing that under the impression that Mr. Math is my boyfriend. Yucky. Plus, I have issues with who I let touch me.
Chris-who-can’t-kiss called Mr. Math on Monday night. I know because Mr. Math told me this morning. It sounded to me like a pre-emptive, make Spunky sound like the bad guy, call. He tried to nail me for talking about my ‘relationship’ with Mr. Math. Funny, you can’t talk about something that doesn’t exist. And, for the record, I didn’t say anything that isn’t true. I didn’t talk about Mr. Math’s feelings or our definitions (or lack thereof). I stated my feelings.
Mr. Math ticked me off because it seemed like he was testing our versions of the night’s events to see whom he would believe. It must have been too much to hope that he would simply believe me unflinchingly. He never told who he believed and at the end of the conversation just said, “Oh, well.” then proceeded to bring up something else which had been bothering him that he wanted to talk about. (I though that was interesting because I want to talk to him about things that bother me all the time, but I don’t. Because he doesn’t care.) I had naively hoped for a bit more sympathy or at least a, “He is such an ass.” Instead I walked away feeling guilty for using our former connection in my defense.
Whatever, I’m back to staying home on weekends
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Old Married Lady
And now, I'm old enough for that. - Thursday, Mar. 10, 2005
I don't get it! - Saturday, Feb. 26, 2005
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Miss Spunky is:
a 25 year old English teacher currently on an extended adventure in Minnesota, searching for a good man with a big... truck!
I love:
My students, excessive amounts of coffee, Baja Fresh and a good hockey game.
I dislike:
Ignorance, mosquitoes, and people who write in IM and/or grammar so poor that it is clear that they are lazy. IM is LAZY, LAZY do you hear me???