Relationship Friday: Halt! You have just been “friend-zoned”…

"Are you surprised?  It's a relationship!!  Do you like it?"

“Are you surprised? It’s a relationship!! Do you like it?”

Okay.  I should’ve known better.  I bet you think I had it coming, and you wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

Last spring, an ex-boyfriend asked me to a networking/business outing, a charity gala where our company had a corporate table.

Sure, I said.  As long as we go as just friends.

Sure, he said.  Friends.  Totally on board.

We started hanging out a little more often, and because I have had several other platonic relationships with men in the past, I didn’t really think anything of it.  He started paying for everything, which I talked to him about — I didn’t think it was fair in our friendship — but he insisted.  Movies.  Dinners in and out.  Hanging with his family.  No biggie, at least not to me.  But lately, his texts were reading like not-so-subtle teenage “Do you like me?  Circle yes or no” kind of thing.

I suddenly became beautiful.  Smart.  Funny.  “Super cute”.  “Sweetie”.  And I didn’t know what to do.  So I ignored it, hoping I was misinterpreting it or that he’d stop.  He started telling me how comfortable he was with me, that he couldn’t wait to see me, how much his family likes me, and today, I finally got, “I really like you”, “I want to amaze you”, and “#realize I missed a superstar”.

Hoooookay…  Awkward.

It’s not like I’m seeing someone else.  And he’s a nice guy with a nice family.  He makes serious coin, owns his own home, and likes a lot of the same things I do.  But he’s not as active as I like to be, and can be really negative sometimes, almost bordering on angry for no real reason at all.  We just don’t jive.  We broke up for a reason, and it was a good reason: neither of us was wowed by the other, and we weren’t happy.  The sex was practically non-existent, and he pulled a stunt on me (unintentional, but crippling) that doused any kind of fire we had been hoping we could fan.  Done.  Over.  Fini.  But a good guy I enjoyed spending friendly time with.

After I got the texts today, I was not surprised, but I was embarrassed, guilty, and anxious.  I should’ve dealt with this earlier, but didn’t want to make a mountain out of a molehill if I was overestimating the emotion behind what he’d been saying to me.  Guilty, because I didn’t want to hurt him, and anxious because I finally had to nip this in the bud and let him know I didn’t want a relationship with him.  So, because he’d been texting me, I texted him back.

Oh, come on, now!  LOL  We tried that already, remember?  You said yourself it wasn’t working, and that’s okay.  The universe has decreed we should be friends, not lovers, and I’ll take being your friend any day.  😀

Naturally, I haven’t heard back from him.  I think he’s upset with me.  And I don’t blame him.  I fucked this one up, and I feel awful.  Not as awful as I’d feel if I got back with him, but still.  I need to do what’s best for me; if I was forced under gunpoint to tell the truth, the main reason I got married to my Assclown was because I didn’t know how to tell him no, that I didn’t want to marry him.  I refuse to do that to myself — and someone else — ever again.

I don’t think he wants to be my friend.  And I don’t want to be his girlfriend.  This sucks, like asking for the receipt for a gift someone was certain you’d want and like so you can just take it back to the store (which I’ve also never done).  It feels cold.  And I don’t like it.

…I really wish life had do-overs.


Relationship Friday: The Jubilant Shame of Schadenfreude

"I find this outcome to be... satisfactory." "...I thought you might."

Spock:  “I find this outcome to be… satisfactory.”
Kirk:   “…I thought you might.”

If you are divorced, you know schadenfreude, even if you’re not familiar with the actual word.

Ahem-hem… schadenfreude: (SHAH-din-FROY-duh) noun; a feeling of enjoyment that comes from seeing or hearing about the troubles of other people; a feeling often experienced by people when their former spouses make asses of themselves and karma finally starts to slowly roll in.

I won’t get into any tawdry details (that’s more of a midnight-margaritas-and-cheesecake discussion), but over the last week, I have heard from several different people that my Assclown threw a very public temper tantrum, said some things that his friends found hurtful and offensive, and now those friends have since ditched him and aren’t looking back.  My Assclown, in his usual righteous indignation, is refusing to apologize and believes that everyone is at fault but him.

When I heard that several of his oldest and closest friends — who are friends with me, as well — had finally, finally seen the side of him he had tried so hard to hide from them, I just about leapt on the closest table and did a freakin’ happy dance.

It was about damn time.

Take that, Assclown!  I hope you like being friendless, because — damn.

Well, that feeling of elation lasted about three to four hours before I just started to become embarrassed by it.  I’m discreet enough that I didn’t say anything to anybody about what I had been told, but after my Assclown told me the story himself (complete with seething venom in his tone when discussing “those fucking sonsabitches”), I figured it was okay to relay it on to Em.  What I noticed when I was talking to her?

That I was still thrilled to death that someone else had noticed that my Assclown can be a real jerk.  And that the more I told Em, the worse I felt about being thrilled to death.

“You know, I kinda feel sorry for him,” I said.

“Don’t bother,” said Em.  “He’s had it coming.”

Oh, and he has.  He truly, really has.

But when I watch him take a fall — deserved or not — and giggle with glee when I hear of how the fifteen men who witnessed his blowout will probably never speak to him again, does that make me a bad person?  Should I be concerning myself with how he copes with this?  Why do I feel bad about feeling so elated?  Why am I feeling guilty about feeling vindicated?  At last, people are finally seeing the cheating, deceitful, delusional, paranoid, pathological liar I put up with for twelve years (pour those margaritas, honey) — why do I feel bad about enjoying that?  Don’t I deserve a little fist pump here?

Maybe.  Actually, yes.  Yes, I do.  But I also deserve to sleep well at night, and know that I lived my best life that day.  So I made a little rule for myself.  When I hear of the Assclown doing something dumb, or getting some kind of comeuppance, I get to enjoy it for one day, and, naturally, call Em and gloat about it.  Then I have to be done.  No more.  Moving on.  I won’t allow myself to hang on to it like some kind of trophy that I pull out of the closet every once in a while to relive an old triumph.  Here’s to being a somewhat decent human being.

…I can’t wait til he fucks up again so I can test this out.