Folks I haven't written a blog post in awhile (and frankly I'm pretty impressed with Blogger's new platform...maybe he has changed after all...maybe I should give him another chance...) but I simply have to share this with you, as I'm sure many of you will identify with my current situation, and I just need to tell someone!
But first, a bit of background.
If you haven't read previous posts explaining my past relationship, let me give you a quick rundown. From my freshman summer at college to my senior year at college, I dated a guy named...oh I dunno, let's give him a fake name so I can be the bigger person and he can keep his anonymity: Jason. We'll call him Jason (Jason is his real name, I don't give a shit about being the bigger person). Over the course of our relationship, he landed me in the hospital multiple times, he brainwashed me into believing I could never live a life outside of the life he decided for us (where I was his slave and his authority was never questioned), and he took advantage of me in every way possible. An example you say? Why of course!
Eight months into our relationship, my brother graduated high school. Thrilled at the chance to see him, Jason and I drove the six hours across Montana to see his graduation ceremony. Shortly after his ceremony ended, as I was talking to my brother and various high school friends, Jason came up to me, stone-faced and cold.
"What's wrong?" I inquired.
"I just got a phone call from my sister," he said. "My father just died of a heart attack."
Naturally, I went into compassion mode. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry! What do you want to do?"
"I just want to go home," he replied.
So we went home. I apologized to my brother about having to miss his graduation celebrations, and excused myself from my friends as we headed back on the the road.
Jason screamed at me the whole way home. Most of it made no sense, but I wasn't listening. I figured this was how he was coping, and it was my job to be supportive, no matter what. After all he had just lost his father.
After we got home, he continued to berate me for the next week. If a sock was lying in the living room, I was going to hear about it. If a his dinner wasn't hot enough, I was going to hear about it. If the television was at a volume that he deemed unpleasant, he was going to throw it out the window, and then later explain it to our landlords, blaming me in exquisite detail. Finally, after a week of this, I called his sister.
"Hi," I said. "I'm sorry it took me so long to call, I just thought you could use a little time to yourself. I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your dad. If you need anything, let me know."
"What do you mean?"she asked.
"Well your father," I mumbled. "Jason said he died of a heart attack last week. Oh my God, please tell me you already knew..."
"Wait," she answered, "I don't understand. My dad is sitting right next to me, do you want to talk to him?"
The blood ran from my face, and I could feel myself losing grip on the phone. "No," I replied. "That's okay." I hung up and waited for Jason to come home.
The second he walked in the door he started into me, screaming about some insignificant thing I knew nothing of.
"I can't deal with your shit right now," he yelled, "I'm grieving!"
"I just talked to your sister," I replied calmly. "And your dad was sitting right next to her, alive as ever."
He stared. I stared.
"Well," he said matter-of-factly, "someone had to teach you a lesson."
(Hi Red Flag, my name is Marlee, nice to meet you.)
So anyway, back to the awesome story that has me so excited right now at 4:24 in the morning.
It's been 4 and 1/2 years since the day I moved out. Ironically, my current boyfriend is one of the people that moved me out of that house, and we weren't even dating at the time. So tonight, 4 and 1/2 years later, I went out with some friends.
We went a variety of places, but then ended the night at a bar called, "The West." This is a place that entirely revolves around the dance floor, and as much as I'd like to go there when I'm sober, it takes a considerable number of beverages before any of my friends will set foot there. Tonight we went, and who should I run into but...
No, not Jason...
Jim (name actually has been changed), our old roommate.
This was the guy Jason and I lived with. The guy that stood in the corner as Jason called me every name in the book and gave me concussion after concussion. The guy who was still very close friends with Jason and who talked to him on a regular basis. I'd never given Jason another thought since the day I was forcefully moved out, but this made the memories come rushing back.
I made eye contact with him, could see he didn't recognize me, and in an instant I knew; if I was going to do this, it was up to me.
So I went for it.
"Jim!" I shouted across the room. "I can't believe it's you!"
He smiled, and stared at me, dumbfounded.
"It's Marlee...we lived together!"
"Yes! Do you not remember me?"
"I remember, it's just...no...Marlee?"
"No, not the Marlee I lived with. You look...wow."
Wow. That's a word that you never really forget. "Wow in a good way?" I asked. "Yes," he stuttered. "My God you look amazing. I can't believe how hot you are!"
I brushed it off. Yes, I had lost a good 30 pounds since we lived together, I learned how to correctly apply makeup, I had a shirt on that could make any well-endowed woman insanely jealous (my girls are a healthy 36D), and I was breaking in a pair of 4" platform heels for an upcoming wedding next weekend. And I was wearing a pair of cut-off shorts that made my legs looked 'effin amazing. Yeah, I have to say, I did look pretty goddamn good tonight.
"How have you been?" I asked, trying to stray into polite conversation, but he wasn't having it. He got halfway through a sentence before he came back to how amazing I looked. He even said I was now one of those girls that guys talk about when they get home because they can't believe a girl that attractive would talk to them. I was glowing.
"Aw, well it's nice to see you, sounds like you're doing great! Tell Jason 'hi' for me!" Then I scooted off to the dance floor and never looked back.
Ladies and Gents, this may sound like the most conceited post of all time, and maybe it is, but I just don't give a damn. And as much as you may hate to admit it, a breakup is a competition. A competition to see who's doing better and who came out on top. Shallow? Of course it's shallow, but it's a way of life. I haven't spent one second thinking of Jason, and since I've found a real man, I've spent even less time thinking about how awful Jason made me feel all those years. But for all that high mindedness, tonight was an exercise in reality.
Someone always wins. Low road? Probably, but I don't care.
All I'm hoping is that tomorrow morning, Jim calls up Jason to tell him that he ran into his ex-girlfriend, and she looked waaaay out of his league.
Fact: 4 and 1/2 years later, I just won the breakup, and it fells fantastic.