Several weeks ago, I had fully intended this to be a trilogy; the third installment in this little personal drama would be the last. So I had this very cute little picture all prepared, but even though things aren't as "complete" as I'd like them to be, it still works in a vague literary sense. Anyway, for whatever reason, the first two parts basically exploded in terms of Comments, which means my dilemma must've appealed in some way to a lot of people. Hence, it just feels wrong not to issue the appropriate update. 😉
You should recall our good friends: the ex who doesn't know what she wants and the guy who we've lovingly labeled, "Mr. Pretentious Jackass." For those of you who are late to the party, I can't delay very long, but here's a quick summary. I dated this girl for several months earlier in 2008, and being a legal aide with full plans on being a lawyer in the very near future, she is always around a lot of lawyers. The firm she's with just so happens to consist of a ton of superficial jackballs who I personally can't stand for more than five consecutive seconds. One of them despised me and my "position in life," poisoning the girl's mind with the standard, "you shouldn't be with someone like that" and "he's just a big child" and other fun arguments that typically would deserve a fist in the throat. I thought highly of the girl until she eventually caved in to the abuse and ended up leaving me to date this Pretentious Jackass. Then, a few months later, I bump into them in the mall; he's as vile as ever but afterwards, she calls me, apologizes, and asks to meet me for a drink.
Obviously, I have zero intention of getting back together with her, so if I accepted the advance and did what instinct demanded I do, I could easily hurt her (even if she may have deserved it, to some extent). Most of all, I just wanted revenge on the moron in question, and hence, my dilemma. Well, I did decide to see her as a friend , simply because I was interested to hear her side of the story. She had a fairly lame explanation and wasn't even clear whether she wanted to come back to me; it was one of those "this is so hard for me; I just don't know what to do!" internal debates, voiced with the deliberate intent of inspiring sympathy. She should've known me better. I would've left things right there and moved on, even with all the abuse thrown in my direction. I'm 30 now and I can't be prone to snapping and beating on people because they're so dreadfully insecure and morally corrupt. That's not my problem, and I don't need to generate problems for myself by sinking to their level. However, I learned a little something when I met her for that drink – 'tis the season, and I at least felt like listening to her side of the story – that changed things just a bit.
I had always assumed that fool was just that: a fool, and one not to be taken seriously. But apparently, there came a time when he had a little too much to drink at a party, and my ex pissed him off somehow, and he hauled off and smacked her. …here's the thing, and Arnold and I both agree on this: I place men who hit women somewhere slightly below a cockroach on the evolutionary ladder. "I was drunk" is not an excuse; never has been and never will be. This alone made me see red. I was ten times more furious than I was when that idiot had mocked me at every turn, and of course, about 30 seconds after she related the story, the Pretentious Jackass himself turned up. In what could've been the mistake of the century, she had asked him to arrive so the two of us could kiss and make up, so-to-speak. I hadn't said more than two words to the guy before then, but when he stuck out his hand in a clearly forced manner, I could only look at it and say, "if that hand touches her again, you had better hope I never find out about it." Then I left. I still had no interest in taking her back, but I did want this guy to pay in some way.
Well, there was no avoiding him. We crossed paths once or twice more while I talked to her every now and then. We never did anything but talk, and that includes the one night she stayed at my place (it may seem unlikely, but I swear it). So finally, one day the girl and I – who, despite my intentions, are starting to get friendly again – go out to look for a Christmas tree. Mr. Pretentious Jackass and his little lawyer posse (it sounds lame; it's even lamer to type) found out about it, and he confronted us out there on the Christmas tree farm. You can't make this sh** up. Oddly enough, his friends weren't really on board this time and tried to restrain him from causing trouble, but when I tried to walk away, he pushed me in the back.
So I threw him into a tree.
Up into a tree. As in, he broke branches on the way down. Then I just put him on the ground and wouldn't let him up until he promised to settle down. The girl and his lame posse were all on my side for once, and it's probably because the fool had gone above and beyond all sense of reason. Quite clearly, it annoyed the ever-loving crap out of him that I was back in the picture in any way, and he finally snapped. This class warrior (the elitist mentality that separates people into classes based on money and often-times artificial prestige) couldn't stand that a game journalist was getting more attention than him…and the odd part is, she didn't decide to leave his ass until the Christmas tree incident. After that, she realized she couldn't possibly be around him any longer, and ever since, we haven't seen any more of him. We probably never will. But before things got further, I made it abundantly clear that I didn't want to resurrect the relationship – for obvious reasons – and that would be the end of it.
But suddenly, I wasn't the only one who wanted revenge. And so…we get two people who are on the same page, no chance of doing anything really immoral (unless you're into this whole abstinence before marriage religious thing), and every chance to have a little fun. Indulging in hotness for the sake of indulging? I'm not above that, not when she's well aware of the casual nature of the encounter. On the other hand, the concept popularized in the likes of "When Harry Met Sally" and "Seinfeld" always rings true: you can't just be friends with someone you find attractive because the sex part always gets in the way. Don't think it's a fact? Truth, it is. So you can guess where I'm at now as I'm relatively certain no more explanation is required. And that, my friends, is where we currently stand…on the precipice of…something…