queen of the crazies, part 2

As you can imagine, I was shocked and quite frankly, scared.

I immediately text The Ex to tell him and ask him why she would do that and what to do. Here is the background that I was given. (If you hate detail, skip it.)

He met her at a party through some friends sometime in mid-September, and very intoxicatedly listened to her sob stories and made out with her a bit. The week that followed consisted mostly of her following him around everywhere he went, and him not wanting to be an asshole so allowing this to go on (I never said he wasn't a pushover). Eventually he fessed up and told her he didn't feel that way about her.

That evening, as they hung out at one of their friend's houses drinking, she sobbed through self-harming threats and locked herself in the bathroom with a butcher knife she found in the kitchen. With everyone panicking, he finally broke in through the window and found she had been making small, deep cuts in her thigh. Whether or not they were in the shape of his name is still in question.

This behavior continued for a week or so before the whole group of friends unanimously decided she was not ever to be invited to any social function ever again, and she eventually left them alone for the most part, but the suicide-threatening phone calls at 3am didn't cease on his end. He refused to talk to her besides the times she swore she was sitting there with a knife. After awhile, he refused to talk to her, period. So, the phone calls stopped.

'Til one day, a couple weeks later, when he got a phone call from Crazimort (oh! I promised an explanation of her name. All of the girls in his social group were very much into Harry Potter at the time, and after saying 'she who must not be named' every time they referred to her, they came up with something more efficient.) who was sitting outside his front door. Did I mention she lived 45 minutes away? She swore up and down that she was "all better" and holding two bottles of expensive Pinot (I know, never a good excuse, but we learn from our mistakes) pretty much insisted that she come in and "talk."

As I'm sure you have guessed, talking led to drinking, and drinking led to blacking out (worsened by the fact that she hardly drank any at all but poured it very generously for him), drinking led to touching, and touching led to, as he surmised the next morning as he put the pieces together, sex. (If you're not humming Portions For Foxes at this point, something is wrong.) When I say pieces, I mean waking up naked in a bed with a girl (also naked) who's completely obsessed with you, and as you eye the floor frantically for a condom wrapper said girl telling you that you didn't use one, and now she is "worried." And she tells you she'll take a morning after pill. (Boys: If this ever happens, watch her swallow it.)

Five days (I kid you not) go by before she calls him in a panic because she is pregnant. No, really! I had no idea that there were pregnancy tests that could tell you that soon! Ugh. So being a young, naive, terrified 19 year old boy he believes it. As this horror unfolds, he begins to question her, asking if he can go to doctors visits with her or see some paperwork, which she aggressively denies and produces some papers clearly printed off the Planned Parenthood website, respectively.

Which brings us (almost) up to speed, when I met her on Halloween (a month and a half after their first meeting) as she professed her "pregnancy" as loudly as her need for a cigarette. So fast forward to when the Ex and I start talking, and he is telling me this and I'm trying to process it and figure out what to do about the 16 missed calls.

I listen to the voicemail, in which she very sweetly says, "hey it's me! Just calling to say hi. Oh, also I have a question for you. Can you call me back when you get a chance? Thanks!"

So I, fearfully if we're going to be honest here, IMed her instead. She starts unloading her version of reality, fit for a TV movie, where she thought that she and I were destined to become best friends, but now I've betrayed her by liking the guy who has impregnated-and-then-abandoned her, and now we'll never have that chance. Then she's telling me how she's very much in love with him and that he's in love with her too, but he's using me to try to make her jealous; that they have some "issues" to work out but that they're going to be getting back together, no doubt about it. She explains that the pregnancy was on purpose, because they want to start having children together already. Then she transitions into a description of how awful a guy he is and how he's out to lie, cheat and steal (and impregnate, I guess), and how he's plotting to do that to me too. She tells me how needy he is, and that's why she broke up with him. She ends it with a grotesque description of the abortion she's going to get to terminate the fetus he "helped" to create. In short, she goes through every nutcase story in the book, though none of them matched up. Unfalteringly, I let her know that I appreciate her concern but I will figure things out for myself, and proceed to block her screen name. (And also the 5 more she uses to IM me after said blockage.)

He calls me later, and tells me that although he isn't 100% (or even 10%) sure that she was really pregnant, he wanted to do the "right thing" so he met up with her at a coffee shop to give her the $400 it cost for her (fake) abortion that she had supposedly had only minutes prior. He reasoned that at least this way, it was off of his hands and we could be rid of her for good.

Or could we?

Loose Lips

There always seemed to be something about the wait station at my old restaurant that brings out the raunchier side of my female co-workers.

Let me explain.

I'm all for talking about boys, dating, boyfriends, friends, family, boys again... and what have you. But I'll be damned if I'd ever tell a perfect stranger the intimate details of my sex life (wait, I'm a hypocrit.... let's just say other than in this blog). Apparently not everyone can say the same.

Now I'm not complaining as much as just sitting here (as I was sitting there at the time) in total shock. I have to say that as much as its sort of off-putting, its also totally entertaining to hear way TMI about someone you don't even know.

For example:
It's my third day. I'm sitting at the counter, refilling salt shakers and the cup of straws. This other waitress walks up who works with me but we've never spoken. I knew the color of her hair and her age range (I want to say like.... 39-45?), but had no idea what her name was. By the time I walked away it's likely I knew more about her than I know about a lot of my friends.

She starts off by ho-ing and hum-ing about how she looks like shit, and she's going on a date tonight. She asks me if her lipstick is too red. Does it look too whorish?

Upon a polite no, her box (not that box, thank god. I mean I don't think.) opens and details start pouring out about how she "doesn't even give a fuck" if she dates this guy, she just wants some "god damned cock." She tells me she's 34 (which is impossible, sorry) and that she's so desperate that she's even hit on her mechanic. "At this point I'll even fuck a Mexican," she tells me.

I'm completely aghast but choke out a polite response; I ask if she's ever tried Craigslist. She laughs for an awkwardly long time and tells me she's not THAT desperate. She says she and "the Mexican" went for a walk after he changed her oil and everything seemed to be going well until he asked how old she was, she told him, and he told her that she "looks good for her age." She was so appalled by his response (which I think was pretty fucking nice considering there's no way she's 34 in the first place) that she pouted all the way back to the dealership, jumped in her car, and sped off. But now she can't understand why he hasn't even called her, "that motherfucker."

She goes on to tell me that I better "enjoy youth while it lasts" because once I hit 30 it all goes downhill. The guys her age "won't fuck anyone over 28" and no matter how amazing she looks, there's always some young girl to get in the way of her much-needed dick quota. That, or the guys that will fuck her (please excuse my language, I'm only recounting what she said to me) can't get it up or "have a cock the size of [her] ring finger."

I kid you not, this actually happened. I wish I was exaggerating. Once all the napkin dispensers were full, she said, "nice talking to you!" totally cheerfully and since then has acted as if she and I have only just met. Oh wait! That was actually the case. Jesus.

Another example:
A few nights later I walk up to the same wait station (which I'm starting to gather has some sort of smutty aura that makes girls generous with the raunchiest parts of their lives) and into a conversation that two of my co-workers are having about one of their new boyfriends. One is looking in a little pocket-sized mirror, perfecting some totally vampy shade of violet-red lipstick while her friend fills pitchers of ice water. She asks the water girl if it looks even, and she replies, "does it really matter? You're just gonna smear it all over his dick anyway." Here we go again.

They both turn around and look and me and giggle, and then continue on as if I'm naturally just part of this conversation. The one applying tells us that she kissed a piece of paper for him to take to his tattoo artist so he can get it tattooed on his ass. I can tell by the tone of her voice and the look in her eyes that this is by far the most romantic thing that's ever happened to her.

Water girl tells Lipstick Girl that she shouldn't let him do that, because she's going to get tired of him and break his heart. I ask how long they've been together, they burst into a fit of giggles. "They're not actually together," Water Girl tells me. "Well kind of!" Lipstick Girl says. I ask, again, how long they've been "seeing each other." They tell me three weeks. That's not bad. Water Girl says, "Yeah, but tell her how long his girlfriend has known."

Lipstick Girl starts telling me about how he was going down on her (!!!) a few mornings ago at around 9am when his girl friend (not to be confused with girlfriend; apparently this girl is just a friend of his who likes to "cockblock" him at every possible moment.... her word, not mine) called to ask what time he wanted to hang out, although they didn't have any prior plans. She kept insisting that they did have plans, but Lipstick Girl is convinced the Cockblock only called 'cause she knew she was over. The CB went on to whine and complain that ever since "that girl" has been around he didn't have any time for her. LG goes on to tell me about how she just got kicked out of her house and moved in with him, and they are now living together, though they hardly know each other.

Lastly, she tells me about the most perfect first date she's ever had - their first meeting. She met him through some mutual friends at a party where she was pretty trashed, and slept with him.

Yep. End of story. I know... for a hopeless romantic like myself that's almost too much! I think the look on my face wasn't enough to convince her that I was impressed, so she explained, so very earnestly, that it only made sense because she hadn't had GOOD sex in 5 months.

Almost brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it?

Right before bringing some appetizers to her table, she says it'll have to only be head tonight though, 'cause she's on her period. WOW.

Every time I was standing there with another waitress they end up either telling me or someone else something I absolutely didn't want to know.

What is it about that counter??