What. The. F.

by jlolb

I’m extremely irritable lately. I might be PMSing. I don’t really know. But what I do know is that it takes next to nothing to throw me into a tantrum, and it’s very, very easy to piss me off. Calm down, Jamie. Calm down.

*Rummages through purse for pill bottle*

Anyway. Despite the previous paragraph, the drama actually doesn’t appeal to me. I graduated high school many years ago. And I didn’t like the drama then either, it’s just that there, drama is a nasty, sticky fly trap, and you’re the fly. You have no choice. Once you get close, you’re stuck. For years.

Which is why, when I forgot to return a phone call, I could feel my feet getting stuck to that very familiar surface. I very clearly pissed off a person whom I considered a dear friend. She was so pissed, in fact, that she basically told me to “fuck off” and that she didn’t need my “fucking shit” in her life and that we weren’t friends anymore. Okay. Whatever you say.

In the process of all of this, I realized that I didn’t have her phone number. Oh quit your judgemental scoffs, quit them, right now. I got a new phone. The numbers didn’t transfer. I transferred my family, my coworkers, Lauren, and that was it. There are numbers that I know because I have called them for years. Hers didn’t stick to my brain. Our prime communication before this had been Facebook and email anyway. MY BAD. I know.

So, I ask a mutual friend of ours for her phone number. He has it. I specifically ask him not to tell her that I asked him for the number because that will just send her into a tizzy and our friendship will be completely fucked irrevocably damaged.

The mutual friend, I need to add, has, for several years been a “love interest”—we’ve been back and forth for nearly a decade—honestly.

So, it’s complicated. Very.

And in an underhanded low-ball move, he tells her.

Because he wants to piss me off?  Big, ridiculous, her once again screaming in my face drama–I am sure you can imagine. She was even more pissed off at me, and I was pissed at him. Two days later, he apologizes—“never meant to screw things up, etc. etc. What can I do to fix this,” type of thing. I give him the easiest answer I can think of. Never talk to her about me. Don’t tell her anything about my life or what I am doing.

It’s *that* easy. Now that we aren’t “friends” I didn’t think it would be that hard. Why would she ask about me if she hates me? Right?

So when she Facebooks me last night over something that I only told him, I’m instantly all:

wtf“whatthefuckwhereyouthinking whywouldyouevengothereafter allofthisyoudumbshit!?”

And why, dear bloggy friends, does she care? She axed me from her life for not returning a phone call, yet she acts interested in what I am doing? This doesn’t make sense to me.

And is he dense, or what!?!?!

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