If The Phone Doesn't Ring, It's Me

Poor, Poor Bastard. He’s still not taking our breakup well. Last night he called me at midnight. I go to sleep at 10:30. But he called my landline so I answered it, thinking it had to be terrible news about a loved one (or someone telling me Britney finally offed herself which in my world is the same thing.)

I don’t remember what I said to him. In fact, I barely remembered the call when he brought it up this morning. But apparently, allegedly, I told him I missed him. Good work, half-asleep Allie. You asshole.

Now before we get into the concept of Freudian Slips, and whether or not I do in fact miss him, it should be mentioned that in my slumbering state I also told him I was doing dishes. Since he’s an ex, and they have the tendency to hear what they want, he was able to overlook the obvious fact I was disoriented and not doing housework. He wasn’t, on the other hand, willing to let the “I miss you” part go. So now he thinks I miss him, I dream about him, we’re going to get married and have babies…and that I do dishes.

The truth is, I did a horrible thing to Poor Bastard. I let him think everything was much better than it was then I got over it. So I dumped him seemingly out of nowhere, hurting a nice guy in the process. I’ve done that a lot. I make relationships work for me until I’m ready to move on then I realize I never should have been in them. My problem is I can generally find two or three good things about a guy that I embrace, then I forgive all his other less-than-desirable qualities. My friends call me The Great Accommodator. But due to all my accommodating, they should call me The Douche Whisperer because the willingness to overlook some obviously uncool things has left me dating some obviously uncool dudes.

Yeah, it’s pretty embarrassing to admit that. But I’m glad I’m finally realizing this because it has to stop. When I gave you my Ten And A Half Commandments, I should have only considered them a good base. Perhaps I can even aim a little bit higher, say for a guy with all those qualities and that actually “gets me.” Maybe everything else is really superfluous to that and I deserve something more meaningful than what I’ve given myself credit for.

Whoa. Anyways…

The truth is, I don’t really miss Poor Bastard. I miss having somebody around to sleep next to me, lift heavy stuff, and kill spiders. Maybe that’s why I said what I did. But I’m starting to think that stuff like that shouldn’t constitute my only boyfriend requirements. If I keep selling myself short like that someday I’ll be reduced to saying all I want is a guy that puts the toilet seat down. I want a guy that I live for and who lives for me, if he’s everything I’ve ever wanted then I’ll gladly put the damn thing down myself. That’s not accommodating, that’s compromising. Apparently there’s a difference between the two. Who knew?

Now I do.

For the record, Poor Bastard was not uncool. He was a really, really nice guy but that’s all he was. So what do I tell him? I’ve tried telling him that’s it’s over, but he’s not hearing it. I’ve tried telling him that I’m going to be celibate for months, and he’s willing to wait. I would try telling him that I’m pregnant with R. Kelly’s love child but I’m afraid he’ll throw me a baby shower and start the kid’s college fund. Perhaps it’s time to tell him the truth. He was someone I over-accommodated but I know we aren’t meant to be. And we’re never going to be. And he should stop calling me, especially after 10pm. Yikes. This conversation is going to suck but it’s one that needs to be had. Unless…

I wonder if R. Kelly’s into white girls.

xo