Isn’t it strange how and why we remember certain incidences?
One in particular I’ve recalled over the years happened during a college class in the 1990s. On a nice day, our instructor taught in the outside atrium, which doubled as a hallway for students. That day, the class consisted of all women, most of which were at least middle aged or older, leaving myself and a few others as the youngest.
While most people went around the class or quietly passed, this random man trotted through, announcing his presence, “Hellloooo ladies!!”
All eyes were on him. He was probably in his 40s or 50s, with an arrogance about him. Some of us laughed it off, and some said hello back. I recall a few of the women around his age being googly-eyed about him, which I found to be odd, because even in my 20s, I could tell this man was full of himself. How could women twice my age not see that?
Our instructor, also a middle-aged woman, rolled her eyes, disgusted, “Men never cease to amaze me.”
It wasn’t the first time she let her distaste for men be known. I noticed this a lot when I was in my 20s with women over the age of 40. I’ve met several women in their 50s and 60s, either divorced or widowed, who have no interest in marrying or dating again. Now, I can see pretty damn clearly why.
By the time women are in their 40s, they’ve been through enough with the opposite sex to realize that men are overrated, and we really don’t need them.
Two weeks ago, I received a text (bad grammar included) from a number I didn’t recognize: “Hello stranger, I need you brain for a hour or so. Are you busy”. And then “It’s Shitshow btw”.
Shitshow is the nickname I gave to a guy I used to meet at the beach. He brought nonstop drama upon his personal life, typically with his relationships. At first, his stories were interesting, like a reality show. But after a while, they became the same story. Then, I wouldn’t hear from him for a while, and suddenly, he’d want to hang out and dump all of his latest drama on me. (Another pattern – people dumping their problems onto me without returning the favor.)
His stubbornness and stupidity resulted in a major injury that required a lengthy hospitalization, and I was only one of two friends that visited Shitshow. A few years ago, he had a kid he wasn’t ready for with a woman he didn’t want to be with, and we only briefly hung out once after that.
Now, I hadn’t heard from Shitshow in a couple of years. YEARS. Doesn’t ask how are you doing or what have you been up to… just “I need you brain.”
The worst part about Shitshow is friendship only goes one way. “Hey are you at the beach,” was our typical communication, because we didn’t really chat much outside of that. A few times, Shitshow made actual plans with me, like taking me on his boat, which is something I truly enjoy and rarely get an opportunity to do. He’d bail at the last minute and post his whereabouts on social media, which was a true slap in the face. What kind of friend does that?!! (Actually, many of them. This is another goddamn pattern in my life that needs to stop. I swear I want to cut my own throat the next time someone does that to me, just to prove a point!)
I didn’t reply to Shitshow’s texts. A friend suggested to find out what he wanted, but I told her I truly don’t give a damn. I’m too sick to help someone else when I can barely help myself, and his drama is exhausting. In the past, I’d have returned the text. Instead, I deleted his message, because I have no intention of ever answering him.
My energy is too zapped to listen to anyone that never spent a single second to help me when I needed it, people that constantly make plans with me and bail at the last minute, and people that break promises.
My quality of life is so poor already, so no need for their fair-weathered friendship. I’d rather have no friends than shitty friends.
A few weeks back, yet another strictly platonic male friend got out of hand again. Now mind you, I do not leave my house, and I rarely have guests!! This is why I hate being accessible thru technology, because I never know who or what will come through. Conjuring on a ouija board is safer.
A while back, I’d written about a male friend saying some inappropriate things to me over the phone while he was drinking (see All of My Male Friends Are Perverts). Crybaby Guy earned his name a long time ago through another friend when we witnessed his behavior in a brewery. When someone disagrees with him, he gets angry, nitpicks, starts arguments, and turns into a giant crybaby when he’s challenged. I’d never been the casualty of his behavior until recently.
Crybaby Guy and I have been in touch more frequently for business reasons. Once I began to notice he was at a bar or just got home from one every time he called or texted, I took note of this behavior. One evening, he called me to talk, but having a conversation with him while he’s drinking is impossible. He’s overbearing, interrupts me, and asks a bunch of questions without giving me time to answer anything. People who do that annoy the shit out of me, because they never shut the fuck up and listen.
Suddenly, I became the target of Crybaby Guy’s drunk arguments over something ridiculously stupid. (So stupid, it could probably be its own blog post!) And that’s when I told him not to contact me anymore while he’s been drinking. Considering he drinks most days, I wasn’t sure if I’d hear from him again. He tried calling once, but left no message. Perhaps that was his only sober moment this month.
In the past, I may have shifted some of the blame on myself for the argument with Crybaby Guy. But now that I’m sober and my head is clear, fuck that! That’s all on him. Today, I don’t think for one minute I am to blame for any of it. I was sitting in my home, minding my own business and shutting myself out from the world when he came along with his dramatics.
Also in the past, I may have returned Crybaby Guy’s call or at least replied with a text. But I cannot afford to entertain or invite any stress into my life. It does nothing but make me sicker, and if people can’t understand that, then they will no longer be a part of my life.
Anyone who treats me this way, knowing how sick I am, can go fuck a monkey on a pogo stick while crying in his beer. Another brick in the wall…