Confessions of A Naughty Girl

Marie Antoinette: Let Them Eat (Birthday) Cake

Now now, we all know I'm not a fan of historical accuracy in my posts, but if Marie Antionette ever did really utter these words, she and I would have a hell of a lot in common. Except for that I am not royalty. And I don't live anywhere near Versailles. And I haven't been guillotined. But otherwise, "like two drops of water", as my mom would say. (I guess that translates better in Hebrew, but since there is probably one reader who speaks Hebrew and I don't have a bilingual keyboard, that will have to do.)

On Saturday night, I stepped out to celebrate my friend CK's birthday. She turned 25, and all she wanted to do was have some tapas, drink, and dance with her good girlfriends. An honorable plan, really.

We met at a hip little tapas restaurant, and I immediately ordered myself a Caipirinha. (By the way, thanks for the introduction to this drink, Aim...although it's like thanking a crack dealer. My liver should be the one thanking you - it failed me on Sunday morning as a result.) About halfway into my first drink, I suffer a minor coronary at the expense of seeing ROMP walk right through the door - with his new girlfriend. Or his new-used girlfriend, I should say, simply because she is the human flesh equivalent of a $5 hooker. She's got it all - Sun-In highlights, fake tits, and a case of tanorexia so severe it foretells the unfortunate case of melanoma in her future. (Now, don't get me wrong - I would never wish melanoma on this girl, but I can't say I'd be surprised if it ever happened. You don't need to shake a f*cking 8-Ball to see that coming.)

I wasn't in shock, though. You see, a few weeks ago, I found out via sources that ROMP had gotten back together with his ex. Which is fabulous, you know, except for the part about him LYING TO MY F*CKING FACE about not being ready to be in a relationship. The moment I found out, I pieced two and two together and realized that he basically set me up and lied to me so that he could go back for more gonorrhea. I certainly hate the type of guy I'd classify as a Dick, but there's one thing I hate more, and that's a Liar. Sadly for ROMP, he doesn't meet the minimum intelligence requirement to be a Dick, but he definitely qualifies as a Liar, which is like a mini Dick. And that, by the way, is a Very. Apt. Description.

In spite of all of this, I have a general rule about these things. We could categorically define them as "Shit that Comes Back To Haunt You", or even more generally, "Uncomfortable Situations". In this genre, you have two options: you can a) throw a temper tantrum, cause a scene, and embarrass yourself, or b) face it head-on, act like a lady, and deal with the emotion later. Personally, I always opt for B. Because at the very least, if I have nothing else, I have my dignity, and I'll be damned if I let anyone see, at least publicly, that they've gotten to me that badly. Sure, cry like a fat kid who didn't get the last Popsicle when you get home (if you must), but maintain your composure until you do.

I definitely didn't want to cry. I didn't even want to yell. Truthfully, the only thing I really wanted to was to let him know that he was not pulling a fast one on my ass.

So, ever the lady, I dealt with the issue head-on, approached the table, and said hello. ROMP turned around as I tapped him on the shoulder, looking white as a ghost and guilty as sin. I had made eye contact with him earlier, and he definitely tried to pull the "I am looking off into the distance hoping you will go away" card with me. Yeah, I don't think so, Buddy. Not so much. I politely said hello and we exchanged "pleasantries". He then pointed in her direction and told me her name (which is hilariously ironic by the way, and I would definitely share if I could, but since I am a law-abiding blogger, I'll settle for offering it up to you if you email me directly). Just her name, no mention of a connection, no mention that they were doing it on a regular basis, nothing. She looked pissed. Even so, I inhaled deeply, held my breath (so as not to catch any airborne venereal diseases that might have been floating around), and introduced myself to Melanoma, who was even scarier from a few inches away.

"Hi," I said, "I'm KA, nice to meet you."

"Hi," she replied, "my hand is wet, otherwise I'd shake yours."

Lord, I could say so much here, but doesn't my blog administrator have some sort of capacity limit?

I turned my attention back to ROMP and gave him my quick exit, and then, not mincing words, quickly exited. As I walked away I overheard her obnoxious, Valley-girl tinged inquiry, "Who was that?!" Sadly, I was too far out of earshot to hear the response, but I can't imagine what it was. I'm having a hard time believing he was smart enough to claim me as the girl that shampooed his hair when he got it cut. F*cking amateur.

We got back to the table and every single girl at the table was in awe of my composure, and honestly, I was a little in awe myself. This is certainly not the first time I've ever encountered an awful situation - it's actually the second in two weeks for me - I'm getting quite good at this - but in both instances, which I should point out are two totally different circumstances yet vastly similar in setup, I shocked myself with my own dignity. I'm not sure whether it was that the first situation was so painful that it blunted me, or I learned how to act, but apparently practice makes perfect, right?

So we're back at the table acting as if nothing happened, and on two different occasions, ROMP got up, left his table, came over to mine, stood 6 feet away from me, looked at me as if he's going to say something, and then turned around and went back to his table. I'm not kidding. I wouldn't have even noticed it unless my friends, ever the keen watchdogs, hadn't pointed it out.

On Try #3, his balls dropped and he was successful. He walked up to the back of my chair and politely explained that Melanoma was, in fact, his girlfriend, and that she was angry that he hadn't introduced her to me that way.

Ahem. Duh.

He then went on to say that the only thing that will make it right for her is if he brings her back to my table and re-introduces us, with him throwing the "my girlfriend, Melanoma" clause into the conversation.

Now, I don't typically like to pass judgment on relationships, given my own history, but that's f*cked up. I mean, seriously f*cked up. I can already tell that they have a loving, secure relationship, because he does the loving, and she takes care of the securing...of his leash. Fair trade, really. I am taking bets on how long this will last. I may even start a pool, just for shits and giggles. Here's a tip, gamblers - you're pushing your odds if you go over six months.

At this point, everyone at the table was irritated. I was irritated because I had to be re-introduced to Melanoma and shake her wet f*cking hand, he was irritated because he'd been busted, and my friends were irritated because his "shocking" confession that Melanoma is his girlfriend happened to coincide with CK's lit birthday cake, which the waitress was holding while ROMP channeled Kofi Annan and offered up his best resolution to this awkward situation.

I calmly agreed to let him re-introduce me, under the condition that he moved his liar ass to the side. I said, "Listen, I don't care, do whatever you have to do, but this is my friend's birthday and your ass is right in front of her cake. So you'll have to wait until she gets her cake. Let us eat cake!"

And that, my friends, was my Marie Antoinette moment.

He moved off to the side and stood nearby for TEN minutes while we celebrated CK's birthday. Finally, when he realized I was never going to summon him and he was just sitting there looking like a moron, he got off of his tail, placed it between his legs, and returned to Melanoma's table. That was the last time I saw them that night.

Predictably, I received an email from him today with an "explanation":

I apologize for Saturday night's set of events. The girl I introduced you to was the girl that was with before . Her and I got back together on 4th of July weekend. The only reason I am breaking this down for you is because it seemed like that situation was a little uncomfortable for everyone so I thought I should explain it. Her and I were on a hiatus for a few weeks and then we just decided to give it another shot and now it's going very well. Anyway, I thought you deserved an explanation on why I came up to you and asked if I could re-introduce you two but obviously don't worry about that now. I put out the flames and everything is cool.

Thoughts:
1. "Her and I" is acceptable grammar - if you have a B.S. in Ridiculous from the Mickey Mouse School of Vernacular. Who gave this kid a f*cking degree?
2. I'm not worried, ROMP.
3. I'm glad it's going well for them. No, seriously.
4. He put out plenty of flames on Saturday, including the flame I had that made me ever think this guy was remotely appealing.
5. Wait, why the hell am I reading this?! Oh yes, because I was procrastinating on that project that's due tomorrow.

My response was simple, yet effective:

No worries here – you really don’t have to explain anything, but thanks anyway. When you came over a few weeks ago, I saw right through everything you said and realized that it was all a big setup, so I think the only mistake you made is underestimating my intelligence. That said, you embarrassed yourself sufficiently on Saturday – no need to make things worse. All the best in your new relationship.

Yes, that's right. I ripped his head off. And it was well deserved. Come to think of it, that guillotine comparison may not be too dissimilar. Marie Antoinette had her head ripped off, and I rip heads off for lunch.

So yes, that was pretty much my weekend.

Eat cake, motherf*cker.

posted by KA @ 10:15 PM