There are countless reasons to dump someone - they're abusive, they're psychotic, they're an unmotivated loser, they banged their co-worker, they've lost that lovin' feeling, they went to the bar and got a glass of water...
Remember that dance club full-o-douche also known as dating that I'm currently trapped in and fucking hate? Yeah, opportunity number one to get the hell out of there...FAILED...already...
I'm not necessarily a believer in rebounds, but I am a believer in seizing opportunities, so when a good looking guy and his friends approached my friends and me the night after I ran screaming from my last relationship a couple of weeks ago, naturally I
Throughout the next couple of weeks over the phone, dinner, drinks and meeting each other's friends I found out he was also a police officer with horrendous hours that overloaded his iPod with country music, kept a strict schedule, avoided variety, rarely laughed at my eccentricities, failed to finish college and kept uncomfortably quiet in unknown crowds of people. But, on the other hand, he was also my age, seemingly kind, a compromiser, had his shit together, owned a house, loved dogs, was complimentary and was vocal about his immense interest in me.
Hmmmm, so we've got the good, the bad and now, here comes the
Everything seemed to be normal Wednesday night - a few drinks with my friends, a few drinks with his - then we stuck around with his friends to play some darts and other games at the back of the bar when the beer and the vodka caught up to me and I suddenly found myself shitfaced. In an effort to avoid doing something to make an ass out of myself such as trip over my own feet and fall down or projectile vomit on my date and his friends while they played Guitar Hero, I excused myself, found an open bar stool at the bar up front and began sipping water.
A happy little drunk, I stared blankly at ESPN listening to my head go "bzzzz" and occasionally chatted with the bartender who was introduced to me earlier by police officer and his friends who knew him, until a while later when police officer and his pals came up, said we were leaving and we headed out the door.
I soon suspected something was wrong by the subtle hints he dropped such as his refusal to speak to me, his attempt to make my eardrums bleed with blaring, screaming rock music and the giant handful of dip he shoved in his lip then began spitting into an empty water bottle. Fucking SICK. Why didn't he just drop trou and take a fat shat on the dashboard in front of me?
Instantly annoyed with his unjustified reaction to whatever the hell set him off, I hung out and waited until he parked in front of my apartment to turn down said angry mohawk rock to ask, "What's wrong?"
It took a couple of tries to get him to spit it out, but he eventually turned to glare at me and replied in a slightly raised, I'm-done-with-you, condescending tone, "You left me in the back to go up to the bar so you could flirt with other guys."
The week before he told me he could get jealous sometimes, but that nonchalant warning didn't quite prepare me for this magnitude of douchebaggery. I'm not sure what he was jealous of - the barstool because it delicately cradled my ass or the straw in my glass of water because I constantly had my lips wrapped around it.
Once it was out, he turned to stone. I talked to a brick wall for a few minutes, explained the situation, reiterated the fact that while I did nothing wrong, I was also NOT his girlfriend and I was also allowed to do things on my own, you know, like that whole women's lib thing. And, we were still getting to know each other - behaviors, reactions, personalities - and this was just part of the whole getting to know you process - nothing to get upset about.
He was clearly done with this whole thing and not because I was abusive or psycho or banged my co-worker, but because I had gotten a glass of water. Just to make sure, I asked, "So you're just going to end this over a glass of water?" "A GLASS OF WATER?"
At that point, although it's a bit blurred with vodka and disbelief, I believe I called him a fucking douche in some form or another, slammed the car door behind me and tromped up to my apartment, alone and barefoot with my stilettos dangling from my fingers. I haven't heard from him since.
Before he revealed his inner, hidden jackass, he was just...OK - Nothing spectacular, nothing wonderful; vanilla, and that's simply just not good enough for me. However, even though I dodged a bullet, it's still disheartening. There's a huge difference between dating somebody, then realizing that you're just not compatible and dating freak after douche after psycho.
I mean, shit, it shouldn't be this hard to find somebody to hang out with that doesn't call me a cunt for my lack of commitment to domestic responsibilities or run away from me when I put party hats on my boobs like Madonna's cone bra in the middle of a crowded bar...or fling himself into a jealous rage over a glass of H2O.
*SIGH* Next time I'll just forget about the water and go ahead and let the chunks fly...all over doucherocket, his obnoxious friends and the goddamn, arcade style Guitar Hero. Perhaps that would a little more ladylike.