and then --- not for the faint of heart

While all the previous is true, and it would seem as though I am moving on quite nicely, the truth is my old relationship still occupies a good deal of my headspace. There's been a number of developments on that front over the last couple weeks.

The second week into my job, I told eric to quit im-ing me. He had just messaged me as he had several times since I left.

"How is your new job?" he started off.

Usually it felt so natural and comfortable that I was answering back before I could stop myself, but afterwards I felt dirty, upset and pissed off, and kept forming in my head the things I wanted to say to him.

Finally that day I did.

"We're not friends. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to know about your life. IF you want to know about mine, read my blog." How long those words had gone through my head as I practiced them, honed them, and worked up to saying -- or rather typing -- them. We exchanged a bit more terse dialogue and I ended up crying in the bathroom. The next day he im-ed me asking about his camera lens and spare key again. I blocked him.

Yes, the milestone. The IM block.

So for a week it was quiet and good and then one night I came home and drunk-googled him.

It was the first weekend of the dance show they were working on, and I wondered how it had gone. I found an interview by the LA Times online -- It was panned. It was BEYOND panned.

The review started

"All the clichés of bad modern dance were on display Saturday night when L.A. Contemporary Dance Company presented four world premieres in the first of a two-weekend run at Diavolo Dance Space. Omnipresent angst, frenzied flailing and headache-inducing soundtracks were but some of the offenses lobbed during the 90-minute show, "Modern Myths and Monsters."


it continued

"The work -- an interminable showcase for individual and group spasms, skitterings and leapings -- went nowhere slowly."

and all the rest was about what you would expect from that preview. The full article can be seen here

Now the first one he participated in was reviewed as mediocre to poor, but eric's music was mentioned as being a redeeming feature. This one...well, nothing was really considered redeeming. I couldn't help but feel a tiny glimmer of glee in my soul -- alright quite a large glimmer of glee. And, even though I absolutely knew I shouldn't, I couldn't help writing a quick little email --

"subject: congratulations
I was wondering how the show went. about the same it seems. congratulations.
m"

and so he writes back

"Subject: Re: congratulations
thanks for your support.
e"

so I write

"Subject: Re: congratulations
Only what you deserve after all the love and concern you've shown for me."

then him:


"Subject: Re: congratulations
Not quite sure how to have interpreted that congratulations, since the review wasn't exactly glowing... I have my initial reactions, but maybe I was looking too deep into that..

I found one of your spare car keys in my glove box. In addition, you've been getting mail here still. Something from a medical group...

I'd like to get my spare car key set back, along w/ my lens as well. How shall we work that out?"

The dumbass actually entertained the idea that I was congratulating him on his retarded show and that I would seriously tell him that he had love and concern for me. That was enough to hold me in amusement for a day or two, but then I had an itch I needed to scratch.

I love words. I love making up names for people. I use them to distance myself, to amuse myself, perhaps to feel superior, but always for the amusement and the feeling of coming up with a name so fitting.

For the longest time, the distancing factor has enacted itself in calling all my friends new significant other "your boy" or "your girl". They are not allowed names until it becomes quite clear that the relationship will be sticking around for awhile. I recently came up with one for my friend Miesha's new paramour who is not exactly being forthcoming -- he has a beard and is basque or french or something. BeardCheese is his name.

With my friend Synderella, I took it to a new height. At work, we came up with names for many of the kids who worked there with us. None were derogatory, they were all just funny -- there was "streets" for the british guy whose accent was just like the rapper. There was "school spirit" (and alternately "chatty cathy") for the guy who could just not resist coming up to everyone's desks and launching into endless conversations when really you were actually doing some work. There was "rico suave" for the guy who freelanced for awhile and had the habit of always wearing tucked in button-down shirts and kissing the cheek of everyone - yes everyone - in the entire department when he arrived in the morning and left at night.

So, with that in mind, and my need to depersonalize eric's bit on the side, I had been searching for a name. I tried several out -- there was fatty (until I heard she had gone on a crash diet and felt really really bad. I don't care about her physique, I just wanted to get at eric) and that girl and a couple of swear words. None of them seemed quite fitting and I was still searching. A paragraph from the review pointed the way for me.

"Hutter's "Clippings," a perky duet between her and Kevin Williamson proved the least distasteful, perhaps because it was only five minutes. Their push-pull, love-hate quest for dominance also made good use of the pair's Mutt-and-Jeff physicality."

I had never heard of Mutt and Jeff before so I looked it up.



Apparently it's an old cartoon. Now, I knew knew knew I should leave well enough alone, but man I am just not a good enough person. I wrote back to him. Let's just say I'm not going to repeat any of it, cause I shouldn't have said it in the first place. But it wasn't good. And the long and short of it is, the bfriend stealing, lying little b**** finally has a name.

Later, I also came up with a name for eric. As I was once again unfortunately letting my mind go over the past -- damn that wondering brain -- thinking about how great our relationship was at first and what an breathtakingly amazing jerk he was at the end, and then his name came to me -- it's an acronym. LSOS (pronounced L-Sauce). I'll give you a hint -- Lying Sack of ....

So yes. I'm a bad bad person who has found a way to get some not-so-secret glee out of a bad situation. Now I know how to refer to them without having any emotional investment -- LSOS and Mutt.