A word to the wise fellas (and ladies too no doubt): at the first whiff of crazy run! Run fast, run hard, and run long. And don’t — I repeat do NOT look back, lest you be sucked back in by the crazy tractor beam. This is my problem, what I do too often. I look back and think, maybe…. DON’T DO THAT! [swat with a rolled newspaper on the nose]
This of course raises the question, what does crazy smell like anyway?There in lies the rub — crazy comes in a plethora of fragrances. It can have a simple, basic smell, like ivory soap and water. Or it can be more pungent, like Virginia Slims and sour lemon candy. Perhaps even flowery. Or like pot and sandalwood. A musty garage. You just never know. That’s what makes it so tough to identify sometimes. But trust me you’ll know it when you really get a good snoot full, and at that point it may be difficult as hell to pull the eject button. But you gottta. You just gotta.
So what’s all this blathering about anyway? Glad you asked, young squire.
As I blogged previously, Gigi had returned. I anticipated that my post about might possibly prove ill-advised, as it could back fire on me, bite me on the ass, squirt in my eye — ouch, it burns! But that was in fact NOT the case. What was the case was that it was prophetic. Okay, perhaps that is a bit much. In any case, it is not going be an issue. For Gigi is gone. For good this time.
Or is she? Only the shadow of my willingness to tolerate crazy knows…….
As was the case in the past, she was set off by something I said/- we were chatting online — and did her eStompoff, saying, well, I can see that this is going to be a point of contention between us. I can’t do this. Have a good day and a good weekend. And then logged off.
Now, did you notice that her response seemed to suggest that after the weekend there may be a chance that she’d be back? Well, that is how I read it, and I just decided, Nawp, not going to happen. Not this time.
So I texted her. And without spreading out the gory details I essentially said we were done. I no longer wished to continue doing whatever it was that we were doing. She of course did not cotton to that. She stomped her little feet and told me NOT to talk to her like a child. To which I replied, I would be glad to if she would stop acting like a child. There was more back and forth. And then she called me to whine that she was at work and for me to stop. I admittedly childishly said, why don’t you stop responding? But clearly she was a last-word girl. Before she could, I said, Never contact me again and disconnected. Ha! Take that missy. Clearly you have no idea who you are dealing with. I can out-immature the best of them. So nanny nanny boo boo!
My point is: the bitch be tripping. And I ain’t having it.
Actually my real point is that this behavior was not new, and was in fact predictable. Why I stuck around to suffer it is, while not beyond me, clearly not a wise choice. Ah, sweet hindsight.
And this is where the beauty of internet dating comes in. Within an hour I was already chatting with another woman, who contacted me via OkCupid. How long do you suppose before I’m blogging about this one?
So begins the countdown, to see if Gigi actually tries to contact me again with “I’m sorry how we left things….” blah blah blah.