Wednesday, January 20, 2010

dear hypocrisy... love, vengeance

dear hypocrisy.

let's have a heart to heart, okay? it's totally fine when i imitate you, because i let people know that you and i are friends, and that we understand eachother very well, and that because i have given a disclaimer, it is perfectly acceptable for me to walk in your shoes for a day. however. there are way too many people who don't know you, who tell me that not only are you not friends, you never will be. these are the people that look me in the eyes and tell me that they hate you and then go make out with you at some random house party on the lower east side. just so that they can brag to all their friends about it the next day, and deny the fact that they will ever hook up with you again.

don't you see, hypocrisy? don't you understand that these people are just using you for one night of sexual prowess and napoleon conquering complex issues? i hope you are using protection, hypocrisy. cause these men are dirty sons of bitches.

i want to tell you a little story. this is one of loss, quote-unquote love, and human feces on a bathroom floor. it has much to do with you, because i was so unaware that the man that i was just seeing for about a month and a half was also seeing you, and i thought you should know. and it's okay, cause i didn't know either. i really didn't. but it's okay, hypocrisy. i got him back. settle in and listen to this lovely little ditty of retribution.

what shall we call this one? due to his mental problems (which i just found out about, hypocrisy, don't feel bad you didn't know. no one told me either), how about we call him BB? for bipolar bitch. that works out very well. BB. a tattoo artist. a maker of leather goods. a writer. a romantic. balding a little, but that's okay. he made up for it so many other ways.

red flag #1. getting angry about someone i dated before him, that had nothing to do with him, that he tried to convince me i was lying about. telling me to 'fuck off.' texting me overbearingly cliche lines of hate poetry. defriending me on facebook. that was all in the first two weeks of us meeting.

if i haven't said this before, i know, i'm the one that stays with these psychomorons. but. it makes for great writing.

he also got angry with me a couple more times, and ended up apologizing. and things evened out, and he seemed happy, albeit a touch possessive. and by a touch i mean it was like trying to get gum out of a child's hair. natalie moved in about two weeks ago and he was so threatened by her we ended up never getting to spend time alone. i guess he didn't really have many other friends. i don't even have that many friends here, but i love being by myself. or at least not having to hold a grown man's hands and cater to their clinginess.

so BB's birthday was on a sunday. he wanted me to meet his parents and go out to dinner the night before with them, and ate at a country as fuck (but delicious still) all you can eat barbecue rib joint somewhere in bumblefucker new jersey. it was glorious, and i ate my weight in baby back ribs, garlic bread, apple fritters, collard greens, and baked beans. food coma. it was like the county fair for a recovered bulimic. actually, that's exactly what it was.

so anyway. everything is great. we get back to his loft, watch a little tv, fall asleep, and wake up soundly the next morning. the food had settled in my intestines and i was beginning to want to take a trip back to my apartment so that in case world war 3 would be between the toilet and my colon i would have my own space, my own privacy, and my own pack of matches. this is a thing with all women. we understand that men do not think the number 2 exists in female bodily functions. in the same manner that we can't smell like body odor or get laid casually and not be considered a whore. anyway. that's a whole other story.

so i decided for the first (and last) time to go for it... to empty my bowels in someone else's bathroom. it was an internal struggle that my intestines eventually won out. and it was glorious. i had exercised the demons and bought a t-shirt on the way out the gates of hell. angels were singing, the sun was shining, and i had a smile on my face as i toggled the little silver handle to make everything disappear underneath the streets of brooklyn.

the water, however, had a different plan. it did not want to go down underneath the streets of brooklyn. it wanted to hang out with me in the bathroom and mortify me. as my eyebrows raised in horror and i whispered, "no, no, no nonononono..." it raised until it almost flooded over. of course. the one time i (ahem) take the plunge, the toilet clogs. "well." i thought. "well, at least it hasn't overflown. yet."

i stepped outside the bathroom and looked at BB, who was so graciously cooking ME eggs on HIS birthday (way to make me feel like a dick), and asked, "hypothetically speaking, if there were to be some instance where the toilet is clogged, where would one find the plunger? hypothetically speaking, of course." holding the pan above the burner, he raised his eyebrows and said, "right next to the wall. do you need me to help you?" to which i replied, "absolutely not. there is no way you will be coming into that bathroom for the next half hour or so, we clear?" i swiveled around, marched back to the bathroom, and locked the door. and prayed.

plunge, plunge, plunge. water level is not changing. plunge, plunge, plunge. still not changing. i put down the plunger and willed the water to go down. c'mon, water. c'mon. if you do this for me, i won't drink for two weeks. okay, well maybe one week. and i won't curse when there are children around. or at least in hearing distance. ooh, and i'll even give money to the homeless people who look like they really need it, like the ones who look really, really homeless and don't do too many drugs.

it wasn't working. the willing obviously wasn't working. i went back out of the bathroom.

"so, hypothetically speaking (of course), how many times do you have to plunge the toilet in order for the hypothetical clog to go away?"

he looked at me skeptically again. "it should be fine after three or four plunges. seriously, do you want me to help you? your food is getting cold." he started for the bathroom. "NO!!! (cough) no, no, really. i'm sure it will be fine. i'll be right out after the toilet flushes. promise." i smiled a little and backed up into the bathroom, got through the door, and locked it. leaning up against it, i silently began cursing my new arch nemesis, the porcelain god of mortification across from me, glaring at me, threatening to fuck up all those years of running back to the privacy of my own house to relinquish my bowels. laughing at me. i hated it. i wanted a better solution than the one that was presented to me, at this moment of do or die. i slowly started over to the handle. please. please do not overflow. i will be on my best behavior for at least the next year if you please just humor me and go down the drain.

well. fuck me running. looks like fate had a plan, and that was to spew my shit all over his white tiled floor as i spastically tried to pick up things that were in the way of my own personal mt. vesuvius disaster-tragedy-comedy of errors. his roommates budiore bag to the chair! trash can... in the sink!! shower curtain - over the shower rod! and stand there, palm to forehead, watching my new bowl of problems move in and settle down. once more, after the water had stopped and i was surrounded by death and destruction, i walked calmly out into the kitchen, where he was reading and casually drinking a cup of coffee.

"hypothetically speaking, if you had rags that you use to clean things up, ones that you would never want to see again, where would they be? oh, and it's time to call a plumber. i'll be out in about a half an hour. see you then."

now, i don't know if you've had the pleasure of cleaning your own shit off of someone else's floor, when they know that's what you're doing at that very moment, when you've been trying for the last month to have some heir of mystery and sexiness as an enticing factor in the relationship... it's not all that you may chalk it up to be. believe it or not. i imagine it's what having kids is like. you have to clean up shit, piss, and vomit for the first years of their life, and then get ridiculed and berated by them in their teens after doing so. except i was both the parent and the child and it was disgusting. but more than anything, i was pissed off at myself, for pushing down that little lever to begin with. that sanity in the back of my head was telling me, don't do it. this is not going to turn out well, and you are going to have to clean up literal AND figurative messes as the result of this decision.

and of course, i didn't listen. and there i was, standing in my own shit-water, in the bathroom of the man i've been dating, trying to figure out how much bleach would have to be used to sanitize each and every tile directly affected by my love for all you can eat ribs. i was embarrassed, i was mortified, and after the plumber came, broke. 175.00 lighter, waving good-bye to the man who snaked out the mess i made, BB kissed me on the forehead. "well i guess the shit really hit the walls on that one. literally. you're still mysterious and sexy to me."

i wasn't really that upset about him braking up with me the following day, seeing as no matter how many times he told me i was wonderful, and beautiful, and whatever else cliche he could think of at least i knew i got retribution for how he treated me when he was angry. he had this pedestal about him, like he was so great at all these things, and he was never wrong or morally corrupt. it's bullshit, of course, because we are all morally fucked up. there is no perfection when it comes to being human. even if you're good at a lot of different things. i should have called the plumber on this relationship before all the pipes got blocked and you, hypocrisy, reared your presence into existence.

you see, earlier that morning, when he woke up and went downstairs to make coffee and start breakfast, i decided to check my emails. he had two tabs open. the one that was on the screen was an ebay item he was tracking, so i clicked on the other to set up gmail. well, lo and behold... what was this? an email exchange with someone i'd never heard of, of the sexual nature. dated, the day before. isn't it funny that even though i never had contact again with the man i dated before BB, BB still disbelieved me and tried to make me feel like a liar and an awful person. like he wanted to destroy my character. yet he was doing it to me, and i never suspected him of it at all. don't you see, hypocrisy? this is where i realized i had to write you a letter. he was using you this entire relationship. he was tugging us both around, and i think we deserved to know. i feel much better now that i know you know that i know you were involved. and it's okay, hypocrisy. he covered it up well.

yeah, he may have broken up with me so he could fuck another chick. but i got him back, and not just for me. for you too, hypocrisy. i decided to shit on his floor the day before he could grow some balls and break up with me because he was using you to get to another woman. how fucked up awesome is that train of events?

it was totally worth the 175. don't worry about paying me back, hypocrisy. it was the gift that keeps on giving. hey, we should get some coffee sometime. call me. xo.


ps- have you ever been on you should check out his picture. he looks worse for the wear ;)


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