Mama’s upset again, Lyfers. AND YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.
Kidding. Let’s hit the ground running on this turd pile, shall we?
OMG What Happened, Buttnana?
GIRL. ARE YOU SITTING DOWN. God I need to reel it back. Actually, I don’t. This was pretty supremely fucked up.
I had a friend visiting from out of town (let’s call him Trevor), and a mutual friend of ours decided to throw a sort of chill kickback at his place. I, personally, was not a fan of the host (let’s call him Dusty). He always shoulder punched me in high school and referred to me as a bro. And as bro-y as I can be…not actually a dude. So…maybe…don’t fucking hit me?
And, honestly, I should have just turned around and left when I showed up and there were two people there: Dusty and someone who tried to date me in middle school. I didn’t, though. I wanted to see my friend, you know? After some small talk that consisted mostly of me playing with Dusty’s three giant dogs, Trevor showed up weee!
Almost immediately, it got weird. It takes longer to make a hot pocket than it did for my night to turn to shit.
Shortly before Trevor even arrived, this whole trash fire was just primed for awkwardness. Dusty, in what I can only imagine was a desperate attempt to look cool, decided to show me all of his tattoos. And he had like…three big pieces? A different guest, not to be outdone I guess, showed me all of his tattoos.
Okay cool so I didn’t ask about anyone’s ink…why are these dudes stripping to show me their bodies. Why. Ew. Ew ew ew. I hadn’t seen either of them in seven years and my first introduction to both of them is “LOOK AT THESE PARTS OF MY NAKED BODY.”
So this was my life.
It only got worse when from there. Because Dusty started drinking. A lot. And he did a lot of real cringey shit like:
- Stop playing Cards Against Humanity to brag about the Pokemon he’d caught in Pokemon Go. In an unironic way.
- Stop playing Cards Against Humanity again to talk about how big his dick was. I’m not kidding. I cannot make this up.
- Make a note of mentioning how his wife (who was traveling at the time of the incident) didn’t want me at the party.
- Mention how much money he makes. Like, putting a specific number on it.
It was about this time that he started making pretty sloppy passes at me. Like calling me beautiful over and over again. And draping himself all over me when I was trying to talk to another guest. Just…hands everywhere. Gross. So gross. I brushed him off and didn’t give it any more attention than that.
So Dusty, embarrassed, drunk, and impotently angry…decided to try and hurt me.
Wait. I’m Sorry. What?
You read me right. He was mad that I wasn’t into his unwanted paws being all over my beautiful temple of a body so he tried to hurt me.
Not by shoving me, or saying mean things. No no. Worse:
He rolled up to Trevor, who has been my good friend for over ten years, and told Trevor that I was going to kick his ass. And is he going to let me dominate him like that? Is he going to let me just walk all over him like that? Is he just going to let me do that? Trevor has me by nine inches and fifty pounds, but that doesn’t matter. I didn’t actually say anything to Trevor, but that doesn’t matter. Trevor is really kind and would never hurt anyone, let alone ME of all people, but that doesn’t matter either.
Dusty tried to manipulate Trevor into causing me bodily harm. And I had no idea until about a week after the party when speaking to someone else about it.
If Trevor had been a less secure guy…Trevor could have really really hurt me. I’m tiny. There are domesticated house dogs that look me in the eye when they’re on all four legs. Peep holes are usually too high for me. I wear large children’s shirts. The Merman is 5’7″ and his shirts are dresses on me.
Just let that settle in for a second. When you’re sufficiently upset and confused, keep reading.
Yeah No I’m Mad too, Now. What Even?
I was about as shocked and upset as you all might be now. I had lots of questions. Trevor more or less asked Dusty to chill out and calm himself.
Or, if you’re a Dodgeball fan:
Dusty then fell apart and confessed that his life is falling apart. Here’s a comprehensive list of all the people who are surprised:
- No one.
Here’s where I get to my point. The moral of the story, if you will.
This is going to make me sound a little heartless. Please go here with me for a moment:
I don’t care that his life is falling apart.
I don’t mean I actually don’t care. I see that struggle and I honor it for being a struggle. I know how it feels to feel like everything is crumbling. I have been there. My problem is not with the struggle.
My problem is the way he chose to handle it:
- You don’t see me for a hell of a long time.
- You tell me your wife doesn’t want me there.
- What…do you just…forget you’re married from then on?
- You get way too drunk and hang all over me like the world’s shittiest meat garland.
- You’re actually surprised that I don’t want you.
- You try to get my friend to cause me bodily harm.
So…what? Because Dusty’s life sucks I have to pay for it with my body? Because Dusty is drunk, that excuses him from trying to get my ass beat? Because he thinks I’m pretty, that’s enough for him to do whatever he wants? Because he’s having a hard time, he’s justified in trying to cause me immanent harm? Fuck that. No. Ridiculous. Get it together.
Handle it. He needs to handle it.
What Does that Mean, Buttnana?
Could mean just about anything, really. Find a therapist. Go somewhere beautiful. Find a new hobby. Practice self care. Or, pardon my salt, how about don’t sexually act out with me. How about that.
How about growing up and confronting your feelings. Maybe do that too. Because what happened at that party was 100% unacceptable regardless of the circumstances. That was planned. A virtual stranger planned to cause me harm.
It is never ever okay to intentionally hurt people because you are hurting. I know that’s a hard thing to hear. But it’s not. No one ever says things like:
- Oh I had no idea you liked me. Let me dab off my bloody lip and I’ll hop to that blow job.
- I had no idea you were getting divorced. My mistake. Let me drive myself to the ER and I’ll have them take care of this broken bone.
- Lost your job, you say? Well that explains why you buried this beer bottle in my face. No worries. 🙂 🙂
Why? Because it sounds ridiculous.
So in closing, don’t be that guy. I know it’s hard to handle things. I really do, believe me. But we have to draw a line at violence, be it physical or verbal or emotional. We have to.
Because aside from it being deplorable…it doesn’t even work. Being a dick does not solve the problem.
Go forth, and handle it. I believe in you. The links really are to helpful resources that I myself have used.
See y’all Friday. We’re doing a makeup look so be sure to come back! Stay classy.