indian food, crazy bitches
11 October 2006
On Friday night, some friends and I went out for Indian food. I typically do not like Indian food, as I typically do not like dog meat covered in sauces that look uncomfortably similar to liquids that come out of my body when I am ill. But I was promised that it would be a good time and so went along. Also, I have like four friends left in this city so don’t have much bargaining power when it comes to how I spend my free time.
And guess what? The Indian "food" was fucking delicious. I have no idea what it was or what it was made of or whether what it was made of had some sort of disease, but it tasted pretty fucking good. So that’s the first positive.
The second positive was that it was cheap as hell. I don’t mean cheap in the NYC sense, where a turkey sandwich for $9 is considered a good deal. This restaurant served bottles of Amstel Light for $2.50 a pop, and that’s a good deal no matter where you are. There were five us and we ate with abandon and drank seven bottles of wine for $35 a person, including dessert and tip. Wow.
But more than the ugly-looking food or the cheap booze, the dinner was about friends. In particular, it was about getting your female friends drunk so that they can tell you about all the crazy shit they’ve done to guys.
Now I don’t mean this in the sexual sense. For the most part, I have very little interest in what my female friends do with men in the bedroom (or bathroom or stairwell), unless it involves another woman or a picture of me. Because even though I’ll have sex with most tissue boxes, I do have some limits.
The discussion, which took place between myself, Brian, and three girls, revolved around post-relationship jealousy. This is a topic that I am most interested in, since I basically started this blog to make various ex-girlfriends jealous of me. And by "jealous of me" I mean "feel so sorry for me that they take me back so that we can finally make a life together and I promise I’ll be a good husband and if you cheat on me again for the love of God just don’t fucking tell me."
But I don’t really consider myself a jealous person. I’ve written before about this, but to be jealous you have to actually care. And as I get older, I find that I don’t care about a lot of things. I care about sports. And music. And myself. And most of the time my family. And some friends. And I’ve been really into barbeque sauce lately. But crazy ex-girlfriends who probably didn’t like me in the first place? Not so much. Over the past few years I’ve learned about ex-girlfriends getting engaged, getting married, fucking two guys at once – and my response has always been the same: "Eh." And then, "Wait – two guys at once? Kelly? Was one of them my brother? Because I think she’s had something for him for years. The strumpet."
I think there are two main reasons why I am not jealous. The first is (and bear with me) is that I am (or rather, Larry is) pretty fucking awesome. I’ve kinda been on a roll for the past 18 months, transforming myself from "Internet Quasi-Celebrity" to "Internet Quasi-Celebrity Who Talks About Himself All the Time." So when I recently referred to the ex-boyfriend of an ex-girlfriend as a "wigger country bumpkin" and then reminded her that "I’m Jason Fucking Mulgrew," it was not out of jealousy, but rather out of confidence and complete and total security and high self-esteem. It was also this security and high self-esteem that caused me to stab myself in the chest with a lighter after she and I ended our phone conversation. But we’re getting off-topic here…
The second reason why I’m not particularly jealous is that save for very few cases, when my relationship with a woman ends, she is dead to me. I don’t do the whole "Let’s have coffee and catch up" thing, but rather play up the "I guess I’ll see you if any of our mutual friends die" angle. Maybe it stems from my parents divorce or from a lifetime of dealing with a penis the size of a newborn’s, but I have an astounding capacity to hold grudges and completely shut people out of my life for all eternity. Some would say that I should probably talk to a professional about this, but to be honest, I’m kinda proud of this, ranking it just below my ability to sing any Huey Lewis song on my list of favorite things about myself.
So when the girls started talking about what they did to make their ex- or then-current boyfriends jealous, I’d responded to each by saying, "That wouldn’t bother me" or "Whatever" or "Is ‘korma’ the word for ‘semen paste’ in Indian? Because it is delicious!"
But then one of my female friends, who we will call Laura, told a story that blew my fucking brains out.
Laura had recently broken up with her boyfriend, "John", but they still hooked up occasionally. Meanwhile, Laura had begun hooking up with a new guy, "Steve." Steve and Laura were not serious, only making out once in a while, but Steve was very into Laura.
Laura’s ex, John, knew about Steve and Laura. But he didn’t care – or didn’t seem to care – because at least he and Laura were hooking up. Though he had never met Steve before, John knew from Laura that Steve was very into her but she wasn’t too into him.
Then one day Laura learned that John, her ex, had been hooking up with a girl, "Sophie", for some time. Though John was ok with Laura with another guy, Laura was not ok with John with another girl.
And so she confronted him about his new girl and the two had a classic blow out – screaming at each other in his apartment, her throwing things, both of them continuing the screaming on the street outside his apartment. Your typical ginormous couple’s fight.
By this point, both John and Laura were arguing and basically trying to inflict as much emotional pain on each other as possible. Laura was pissed off and tired of arguing and decided to end the argument once and for all. So she reached deep down into herself, set her icy gaze upon her ex-love, and said, "Just so you know, I’m going home tonight and I’m going to fuck Steve. And by the way, he would fuck you up."
…
Well. Um, ok.
I felt like I was in the middle of an episode of "Girlfriends" as Brian and I sat at the table, mouths agape, as the girls drunkenly shrieked in delight and high-fived one another. Finally, I meekly said, "Laura, that’s terrible." To which she replied, "Terrible – or AWESOME?!?" More shrieking. More high-fiving.
I don’t really no what else to say about that remark other than it’s one thing to tell your ex-boyfriend that you’re going home to fuck another guy. It is another thing entirely to add that the guy you’re going to fuck would beat his ass. I mean, just, wow. That is quite a zinger if I’ve ever heard one.
As you might imagine, that shut up John pretty quickly and Laura was free to stomp away with a major victory under her belt. Then she went home and fucked Steve. Who could beat up John. In case you didn’t catch that the first time around.
***
There is no moral or ending to this story (aside from that I should carefully reevaluate my friendship with Laura). If I had comments or a messageboard (which Site Guy Brendan is working on), I’d open this up to y’all and say "top that." And not in the fictional sense, but asking if any former lover has said anything worse to you. You can email me, but I doubt it. That’s quite a doozy.
Personally, even though I mentioned that I’m not a jealous person, that line would probably turn me gay. Brian and I have spent the past few days of thinking of something more painful to hear, but have not been able to come up with anything (again, it has to be realistic; it’d probably hurt more to hear "Your brother’s dick is bigger than yours, but not bigger than your dad’s" but the odds of that actually occurring all small).
But love makes you do crazy things. It was William Shakespeare who said, "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind." I’m not sure what this has to do with our discussion – I’m not even really sure what it means at all – but I’ve always liked the way it sounds and wanted to end this post on an erudite note.
…
I don’t think it worked.
And guess what? The Indian "food" was fucking delicious. I have no idea what it was or what it was made of or whether what it was made of had some sort of disease, but it tasted pretty fucking good. So that’s the first positive.
The second positive was that it was cheap as hell. I don’t mean cheap in the NYC sense, where a turkey sandwich for $9 is considered a good deal. This restaurant served bottles of Amstel Light for $2.50 a pop, and that’s a good deal no matter where you are. There were five us and we ate with abandon and drank seven bottles of wine for $35 a person, including dessert and tip. Wow.
But more than the ugly-looking food or the cheap booze, the dinner was about friends. In particular, it was about getting your female friends drunk so that they can tell you about all the crazy shit they’ve done to guys.
Now I don’t mean this in the sexual sense. For the most part, I have very little interest in what my female friends do with men in the bedroom (or bathroom or stairwell), unless it involves another woman or a picture of me. Because even though I’ll have sex with most tissue boxes, I do have some limits.
The discussion, which took place between myself, Brian, and three girls, revolved around post-relationship jealousy. This is a topic that I am most interested in, since I basically started this blog to make various ex-girlfriends jealous of me. And by "jealous of me" I mean "feel so sorry for me that they take me back so that we can finally make a life together and I promise I’ll be a good husband and if you cheat on me again for the love of God just don’t fucking tell me."
But I don’t really consider myself a jealous person. I’ve written before about this, but to be jealous you have to actually care. And as I get older, I find that I don’t care about a lot of things. I care about sports. And music. And myself. And most of the time my family. And some friends. And I’ve been really into barbeque sauce lately. But crazy ex-girlfriends who probably didn’t like me in the first place? Not so much. Over the past few years I’ve learned about ex-girlfriends getting engaged, getting married, fucking two guys at once – and my response has always been the same: "Eh." And then, "Wait – two guys at once? Kelly? Was one of them my brother? Because I think she’s had something for him for years. The strumpet."
I think there are two main reasons why I am not jealous. The first is (and bear with me) is that I am (or rather, Larry is) pretty fucking awesome. I’ve kinda been on a roll for the past 18 months, transforming myself from "Internet Quasi-Celebrity" to "Internet Quasi-Celebrity Who Talks About Himself All the Time." So when I recently referred to the ex-boyfriend of an ex-girlfriend as a "wigger country bumpkin" and then reminded her that "I’m Jason Fucking Mulgrew," it was not out of jealousy, but rather out of confidence and complete and total security and high self-esteem. It was also this security and high self-esteem that caused me to stab myself in the chest with a lighter after she and I ended our phone conversation. But we’re getting off-topic here…
The second reason why I’m not particularly jealous is that save for very few cases, when my relationship with a woman ends, she is dead to me. I don’t do the whole "Let’s have coffee and catch up" thing, but rather play up the "I guess I’ll see you if any of our mutual friends die" angle. Maybe it stems from my parents divorce or from a lifetime of dealing with a penis the size of a newborn’s, but I have an astounding capacity to hold grudges and completely shut people out of my life for all eternity. Some would say that I should probably talk to a professional about this, but to be honest, I’m kinda proud of this, ranking it just below my ability to sing any Huey Lewis song on my list of favorite things about myself.
So when the girls started talking about what they did to make their ex- or then-current boyfriends jealous, I’d responded to each by saying, "That wouldn’t bother me" or "Whatever" or "Is ‘korma’ the word for ‘semen paste’ in Indian? Because it is delicious!"
But then one of my female friends, who we will call Laura, told a story that blew my fucking brains out.
Laura had recently broken up with her boyfriend, "John", but they still hooked up occasionally. Meanwhile, Laura had begun hooking up with a new guy, "Steve." Steve and Laura were not serious, only making out once in a while, but Steve was very into Laura.
Laura’s ex, John, knew about Steve and Laura. But he didn’t care – or didn’t seem to care – because at least he and Laura were hooking up. Though he had never met Steve before, John knew from Laura that Steve was very into her but she wasn’t too into him.
Then one day Laura learned that John, her ex, had been hooking up with a girl, "Sophie", for some time. Though John was ok with Laura with another guy, Laura was not ok with John with another girl.
And so she confronted him about his new girl and the two had a classic blow out – screaming at each other in his apartment, her throwing things, both of them continuing the screaming on the street outside his apartment. Your typical ginormous couple’s fight.
By this point, both John and Laura were arguing and basically trying to inflict as much emotional pain on each other as possible. Laura was pissed off and tired of arguing and decided to end the argument once and for all. So she reached deep down into herself, set her icy gaze upon her ex-love, and said, "Just so you know, I’m going home tonight and I’m going to fuck Steve. And by the way, he would fuck you up."
…
Well. Um, ok.
I felt like I was in the middle of an episode of "Girlfriends" as Brian and I sat at the table, mouths agape, as the girls drunkenly shrieked in delight and high-fived one another. Finally, I meekly said, "Laura, that’s terrible." To which she replied, "Terrible – or AWESOME?!?" More shrieking. More high-fiving.
I don’t really no what else to say about that remark other than it’s one thing to tell your ex-boyfriend that you’re going home to fuck another guy. It is another thing entirely to add that the guy you’re going to fuck would beat his ass. I mean, just, wow. That is quite a zinger if I’ve ever heard one.
As you might imagine, that shut up John pretty quickly and Laura was free to stomp away with a major victory under her belt. Then she went home and fucked Steve. Who could beat up John. In case you didn’t catch that the first time around.
***
There is no moral or ending to this story (aside from that I should carefully reevaluate my friendship with Laura). If I had comments or a messageboard (which Site Guy Brendan is working on), I’d open this up to y’all and say "top that." And not in the fictional sense, but asking if any former lover has said anything worse to you. You can email me, but I doubt it. That’s quite a doozy.
Personally, even though I mentioned that I’m not a jealous person, that line would probably turn me gay. Brian and I have spent the past few days of thinking of something more painful to hear, but have not been able to come up with anything (again, it has to be realistic; it’d probably hurt more to hear "Your brother’s dick is bigger than yours, but not bigger than your dad’s" but the odds of that actually occurring all small).
But love makes you do crazy things. It was William Shakespeare who said, "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind." I’m not sure what this has to do with our discussion – I’m not even really sure what it means at all – but I’ve always liked the way it sounds and wanted to end this post on an erudite note.
…
I don’t think it worked.
