Friday, May 21, 2010

My Personal 9/11

Since many of my sexploits occurred during an unplanned and unwanted single period, I feel it necessary to explain how this happened. This is the story of a broken heart so it lacks some ridiculousness on my end and most people reading this blog probably know it already.

Previously mentioned C and I lived together in Buffalo the last summer before he went to law school in Queens and before my senior year of undergrad at UB. It was a dismal summer; I hated my "internship" and he never landed a job so he would sit around and create depressing electronic songs. I begged him to break up with me, explaining that I didn't want him to go to law school, meet some nerdy law school girl who was hot and exactly like him and subsequently break up with me. Over and over, he insisted that he would never do that and that I was the only girl for him.

Around the beginning of August, he went off to law school. Still nervous, I asked him about his friends, noting that he was rather terse. I often noticed girls giggling in the background and his calls/texts were few and far between. When we did talk, he continued to insist that there was nothing going on and told me a story of how his professors kept saying, "if you want to survive in law school, you have to break up with your significant others." I asked if this meant that he wanted to break up. He reiterated no, he just wanted me to understand it was hard for him to do both.

Even though the relationship was clearly headed for the shitter, I believed in it and booked flights to visit him in NYC every month until January. By now, I was back in my hometown and delayed my trip back to Buffalo so that I could visit him on his birthday, the day before classes started for me. My dad was going to drive me to Queens, I would spend one glorious night with C and then fly out of JFK to the Rough Buff. Two nights before I was about to go, I got ultra wasted and attempted to call him. Over and over again his phone went to voicemail. I yelled to anyone who would listen to me in the bar that my boyfriend was cheating on me and that I was DTF. I broke up with him over voicemail. I called him from other people's number to see if he was just ignoring me. He ignored their (same area code) calls too.

In the morning, I regretted my actions, which is unusual for me. I called him and he finally answered and explained that he had gone out with some friends, accidentally forgetting his phone in his apartment. This was coming from a guy who never forgot anything, a total red flag. I continued to ignore my instincts and told him to ignore my break up voicemail. We were still together but he was taciturn and asked me if we could talk about it later. I agreed but my stomach started to turn.

My impatience got the best of me and I called him while waiting for my mom at Price Chopper. I apologized profusely for my drunken ridiculousness, since I knew he hated when I got like that without him, explained that he was the best boyfriend in the whole world and reiterated that I never wanted to break up with him. He remained quiet and when I asked him if he did want to break up he desperately begged if we could just talk about it later . I conceded but called him back in an hour, demanding he tell me what was up. He put up a fight but eventually took a deep breath and said what I had been dreading.

"I met someone else."

I flipped. What did he mean? How could he do this to me?? I had just gotten a Brazilian for him and he knew I was going and didn't even tell me that I didn't need to drop the 60 bones! He didn't have any good answers, mostly just a lot of "I know's" and "I'm sorry's." I bawled and my stomach turned some more. I called him every twenty minutes or so after that, demanding answers, asking questions about her (Muslim, Bengali, neighbor, 5'0, 100lbs, named NOORZAHAN, of all un-American names), forbidding him to see her until we were officially broken up. In my eyes, we were still together until I saw him and we broke up in person. He claimed she knew about me, but he hadn't told her until it "came up," nearly two weeks after they met.

So one sleepless night later, I drove to Queens. I tried to look cute but I was at pretty much my fattest ever so it was a tough job. As I walked up to his door, she walked out of his balcony, looked at me disdainfully, and walked to her own apartment. Fury built up inside me and, though I never hated Muslims before, I hated them now, for terrorizing my heart. Misplaced hate, I now realize, but I ultimately learned that she was a snatch and deserved to be hated.

Anyway, to make a long story short (far too late), we broke up. We both cried and he said a lot of things that didn't make any sense like, "I feel like World War III is coming," and "I don't really use the internet anymore." I forced him to have sex with me as a last ditch effort to spark the love but it was difficult since he said, "I don't know how she'll feel about that." It was the fourth worst sex I ever had. I went back to Buffalo, became best friends with ShaSha, nicknamed his new gf WHOREzahan and began my drunken decent into single ridiculousness. This wouldn't be the end of the saga of C and I, but it did end up being one of the best, most fun, most adventurous times of my life.

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