After this, I'm done.
This is purely for catharsis.
Brandi and I met at work, she was a cashier and I was a few rungs up on the leadership ladder. She first struck me as kind of goofy; the first memory I have of her is a time she came in wearing her boyfriends shoes to work. Picture a ninety pound girl clomping around in a pair of men's nines; she was a cartoon brought to life. I think that's the first time I talked to her, to comment about her curious footwear. After that we talked on occasion whenever the job required it but that was about it. It was last summer when Shuny (my friend and then Supervisor) asked if I'd like to join her, her boyfriend (my homie) Nick, and another couple to go see Ocean's Twelve. I said sure without realizing that I'd be the fifth wheel and on an unexplainable impulse I asked Brandi if she'd like to go after work. She said yes, and that's where it all began.
For the longest time we remained only friends. Then over a period of months; after many late nights filled with conversations about everything and nothing, we became something more. At first we agreed that this was just something casual; something fun and it didn't necessarily have to lead to anything deeper. At the time I figured there was no way we could ever develop a more meaningful relationship. There was an age difference between us that served as a constant reminder of incompatibility; she'd turn up the radio for some new jam from a rapper I'd never heard of before and I would have to explain the difference between liberal and a conservative when we watched the news.
Still, we maintained. Soon I had an apartment of my own which quickly and slightly without my consent became an apartment of ours. For all intents and purposes we were living together and for the most part everything was fine.
There were some fights though.
The fight that occurred at least three times was over, of all things, my ex. By this time Bonnie had had a baby, moved to Utah, and then had recently moved back into the area. I still cared about Bonnie but as a friend; it's become painfully obvious over the years that we just don't work together beyond that. The problem was though that in my enthusiasm for being honest with Brandi I had revealed my biggest character flaw when it came to relationships; infidelity. When I had revealed that to her we still had been only friends and I had never thought we'd be in a relationship ourselves so it seemed harmless. It came back to haunt me when she began to mistrust my intentions with Bonnie because she figured with my track record it was only a matter of time before I cheated on her unless she was vigilant. I have to hand it to Brandi, I may have been the elder but there were many instances where she was the wiser.
I don't deal well with mistrust. At a certain point I rely on the flawed logic of, "Well if you're already convinced I'm doing something wrong then I might as well do it." That's when I secretly met with Bonnie at my new apartment without telling Brandi about it first. Of course she found out; of all things she found a baby spoon soaking in the sink! I tried to talk my way out of it but it was no use; she wouldn't be satisfied unless I severed all ties with Bonnie.
I did it, and I still regret it more than anything in my life.
Somehow Brandi convinced me to call Bonnie in front of her an convey that I wouldn't be speaking to her ever again. Poor Bonnie was blindsided by this and reacted accordingly; first she was hurt and confused but that quickly turned to rage and indignation. The last words she said to me was, "I hope you die in a fire."
I hung up the phone and cried.
That sacrifice seemed to be what was needed though. For a while things were fine; we started hanging out more with my friends and even began a the tradition of "Wednesday Night" where three couples would get together to watch "Lost" and take turns cooking dinner for one another.
Then I found the text messages and it was my turn to see what it feels like not to trust ones partner.
It just happened one day, she was in the shower and on a whim I decided to check her phone. The messages I found were to another guy we worked with but it was the messages that were deleted which aroused my suspicion. I didn't say anything right away...or did I? I can't remember it clearly now. No, I'm fairly sure I sat on that info for a little while, maybe asking Shuny her opinion on the matter since she and Brandi had become quite close. When I confronted Brandi about it she was reluctant to admit just how serious the messages were but somehow we came to an understanding that what she was doing was inappropriate and if she wanted us to stay together it had to stop. And it did.
Flash forward to October. We had been together over a year and through all the ups and downs we were still together. Except something wasn't working. We didn't talk as much as we used to, didn't spend as much time together as we used to. I thought it was because of our close living conditions. We were in a one bedroom apartment and it seemed perfectly logical to me that there were going to be times when we'd both want our space. Even at the time I realized I was the only one who felt that way.
It came to a head in a fight where she laid out her grievances and in a fit of passion we decided to end it. She left that night after calling Shuny to help her move out what belongings she was able to throw together in a few bags and boxes. Our friends had mixed reactions about this. Shuny just saw it as another in a string of make ups and break ups. I wasn't so sure, but when Brandi and I got together to talk about things once more we arrived at an unexpected solution. She told me that she felt insecure in our relationship because I didn't talk much about the future or about a commitment to her. With more of a commitment she'd feel better about things. I wasn't about to propose under the gun, but we did agree that moving in together, officially, would be a suitable gesture.
That's how we decided to get the new, two bedroom apartment.
I stressed how much it would cost; that if we're living together then she'd be responsible for half the rent and half the bills. Brandi assured me she was up to it and the next thing I knew I was packing boxes and walking them two buildings over to the new place. She immediately took to decorating the place with lots of picture frames, and coasters with little pictures in them, and an area rug (which I actually liked a lot) to put between the couch and the TV. The place felt great, I can at least say that much. However, the bliss was short lived as we began to fight about new things, petty things. We'd fight about chores and who should clean the bathroom mirror and who should vacuum. We fought about laundry and who should wash it and who should fold it and put it away. We fought mostly about how she had an expectation of an acceptable level of clean that differed from mine.
At first I was dumbfounded; I couldn't believe that after everything we had been through, everything we had fought about, that our undoing would be over household chores. This went on for weeks; days would go by and nothing but then there'd be a flare up of a fight that never quite got put out. It just smoldered, waiting for the kindling of our next dissatisfaction.
Then, miraculously, things began to show signs of improvement. We weren't fighting as much, and I thought it was due to my continued effort to meet her expectations. Christmas approached and I tried to address all the things she said she needed from me: I tried to surprise her with tickets to the zoo because she once said offhandedly that she'd never been. I arranged a dinner for two at Benihana because she said it was her favorite restaurant. I got her DVDs of Dane Cook, Entourage and the complete season of Six Feet Under because, fuck, the liked DVDs. I noticed her lukewarm reaction to her gifts but dismissed it because...well, because I'm an idiot.
Two days later she broke up with me.
At the time I thought it was mutual; we agreed that we were both unhappy and that things hadn't changed for the better. I asked her what she wanted to do, what she needed me to do. She said there was nothing. She was done. And it was over just like that. She left the apartment that night and over the course of the following week she packed her things and began moving them out. She stopped sleeping in the apartment at night but would appear at eight in the morning and simply crash on the living room couch. We barely spoke those last few days; we'd exchange pleasantries during the day when our paths crossed and then she'd be gone at night only to again reappear in the morning asleep on the couch.
Then I began to notice things. One morning I awoke as the front door closed, Brandi was just arriving. I got out of bed to make coffee and when we saw each other something struck my eye. It was just the shirt she was wearing. I'd never seen her in it before and it was an awkward size, at least two sizes to large. I stood there, frozen, letting my slow brain try to make sense of what I was seeing. She noticed and said something to break my momentary trance. Whatever she said I just responded, "Nothing" and finished making my coffee.
But I grew suspicious.
I started piecing things together like a conspiracy theorist pouring over a declassified document:
"She doesn't sleep here but she comes home in the morning at the same time every time. School. She's staying with one of her girlfriends who still has to go to school in the morning and that's why she has to come back here to sleep. Who does she know who'd have school in the morning? Drawing a blank but thats still the best explanation. Okay but what about the shirt? The shirt wasn't hers but it could have been a friend of hers. It's too big to be a friend of hers and it was a high school shirt, you saw the name right on it. Okay, who do we know that she knows that went to that school? It's the local school genius, 'could be anybody. It was faded too. Yeah, an older shirt. Where would she get an old, broken in, comfy shirt from, only to come back here to sleep on the couch in the morning? Sleep like she hadn't slept all night? ...fuck."
I'm an idiot, but I'm not a fucking idiot.
For two days I mulled that over. Who it could be and would I really want to know? Two days I made myself get used to the idea that she was already fucking someone else. Two days of wondering how much of this went on before we actually broke up. Two wretched days of those thoughts and me telling myself I'm stupid to get worked up over it because we're already broken up!
Then one day I get off work an hour early.
During the drive home I just got this feeling. This crazy jealous feeling that I was going to walk in to the apartment and catch her there with some guy because she didn't expect me there until later. The whole drive home I thought about this; do I have a right to get angry if someone is there? Do I yell? Do I scream? Do I punch him in his goddamn stupid face?
I arrived home and paused at the front door before sliding the key into the lock. I opened the door to...
an empty apartment. No fireworks, no needle dragged across the record, nothing. Nothing except Brandi's digital camera resting on the couch cushion. I don't want to look, but I have to look.
That's when I see him, and what's worse is I know his name. See this guy is a friend of a Nick's, not only friend but Nick made him best man in his wedding over Brandon, me, and even his own brother. This guy is Nick's homie which made me a homie by association. Fuck, he'd even been in my house to drink my beer and watch UFC. Now he was fucking Brandi. The pictures, though thankfully not graphic implied all I needed to be absolutely sure that this was the guy, and they were indeed fucking. Then my brain started doing that conspiracy theorist thing again:
"If it's Nick's best man then that means Nick knows and if Nick knows since he's no good with secrets that means Shuny knows and if Shuny knows then it's a safe bet Brandon's fiancée Angela knows and if she knows then Brandon probably knows. My god that means every knew, but me."
The logic worked it's way through my head and I decided if I was every going to work it all the way out then I would need alcohol to lubricate the machinery. I sent Brandon a no nonsense text letting him know that we needed to hit a bar and right fucking now. He came through like a champ and soon we were seated at a table, pints in hand, exchanging stories about the current state of our lives. Then I shared with him my revelation and asked if he knew anything about it. He said he found out the night before and was given instruction not to tell me anything because Brandi was supposed to tell me.
Maybe I should have been but I wasn't really pissed at Brandon for not telling me, or Nick for that matter. Our three significant others had formed up a tight little clique and with Nick being married and Brandon being engaged it's understandable how one must defer to their better half in certain cases. Had the roles been reversed and had I found myself having to sit on that kind of secret I probably would have done the same thing.
Still, it would have been nice if someone would have said something.
So once I'd found out Brandi had been fucking some guy I know from work and had been since two days after we split I got to spend the following week dealing with my feelings about it. Judging from my past few entries it's obvious I've felt pretty fucking low. Each day gets better though, hours go by without me thinking about it, or her. I can resist the urge to check her MySpace because I know what I'll find and it won't do a lick of good to make me feel better. My friends have even tried offering up the single women in their family to help me get through this but I honestly can't begin to think about being with someone else right now...but I'll take a rain check.
Wow, as long as this entry turned out to be it has managed to alleviate some of this weight I've been carrying around in my chest all week. Now I just need to get my ass in the gym so I can mold myself back into someone that women make out with and take off their panties for.
What? I just got dumped. I can be shallow for a little while.
Brandi and I met at work, she was a cashier and I was a few rungs up on the leadership ladder. She first struck me as kind of goofy; the first memory I have of her is a time she came in wearing her boyfriends shoes to work. Picture a ninety pound girl clomping around in a pair of men's nines; she was a cartoon brought to life. I think that's the first time I talked to her, to comment about her curious footwear. After that we talked on occasion whenever the job required it but that was about it. It was last summer when Shuny (my friend and then Supervisor) asked if I'd like to join her, her boyfriend (my homie) Nick, and another couple to go see Ocean's Twelve. I said sure without realizing that I'd be the fifth wheel and on an unexplainable impulse I asked Brandi if she'd like to go after work. She said yes, and that's where it all began.
For the longest time we remained only friends. Then over a period of months; after many late nights filled with conversations about everything and nothing, we became something more. At first we agreed that this was just something casual; something fun and it didn't necessarily have to lead to anything deeper. At the time I figured there was no way we could ever develop a more meaningful relationship. There was an age difference between us that served as a constant reminder of incompatibility; she'd turn up the radio for some new jam from a rapper I'd never heard of before and I would have to explain the difference between liberal and a conservative when we watched the news.
Still, we maintained. Soon I had an apartment of my own which quickly and slightly without my consent became an apartment of ours. For all intents and purposes we were living together and for the most part everything was fine.
There were some fights though.
The fight that occurred at least three times was over, of all things, my ex. By this time Bonnie had had a baby, moved to Utah, and then had recently moved back into the area. I still cared about Bonnie but as a friend; it's become painfully obvious over the years that we just don't work together beyond that. The problem was though that in my enthusiasm for being honest with Brandi I had revealed my biggest character flaw when it came to relationships; infidelity. When I had revealed that to her we still had been only friends and I had never thought we'd be in a relationship ourselves so it seemed harmless. It came back to haunt me when she began to mistrust my intentions with Bonnie because she figured with my track record it was only a matter of time before I cheated on her unless she was vigilant. I have to hand it to Brandi, I may have been the elder but there were many instances where she was the wiser.
I don't deal well with mistrust. At a certain point I rely on the flawed logic of, "Well if you're already convinced I'm doing something wrong then I might as well do it." That's when I secretly met with Bonnie at my new apartment without telling Brandi about it first. Of course she found out; of all things she found a baby spoon soaking in the sink! I tried to talk my way out of it but it was no use; she wouldn't be satisfied unless I severed all ties with Bonnie.
I did it, and I still regret it more than anything in my life.
Somehow Brandi convinced me to call Bonnie in front of her an convey that I wouldn't be speaking to her ever again. Poor Bonnie was blindsided by this and reacted accordingly; first she was hurt and confused but that quickly turned to rage and indignation. The last words she said to me was, "I hope you die in a fire."
I hung up the phone and cried.
That sacrifice seemed to be what was needed though. For a while things were fine; we started hanging out more with my friends and even began a the tradition of "Wednesday Night" where three couples would get together to watch "Lost" and take turns cooking dinner for one another.
Then I found the text messages and it was my turn to see what it feels like not to trust ones partner.
It just happened one day, she was in the shower and on a whim I decided to check her phone. The messages I found were to another guy we worked with but it was the messages that were deleted which aroused my suspicion. I didn't say anything right away...or did I? I can't remember it clearly now. No, I'm fairly sure I sat on that info for a little while, maybe asking Shuny her opinion on the matter since she and Brandi had become quite close. When I confronted Brandi about it she was reluctant to admit just how serious the messages were but somehow we came to an understanding that what she was doing was inappropriate and if she wanted us to stay together it had to stop. And it did.
Flash forward to October. We had been together over a year and through all the ups and downs we were still together. Except something wasn't working. We didn't talk as much as we used to, didn't spend as much time together as we used to. I thought it was because of our close living conditions. We were in a one bedroom apartment and it seemed perfectly logical to me that there were going to be times when we'd both want our space. Even at the time I realized I was the only one who felt that way.
It came to a head in a fight where she laid out her grievances and in a fit of passion we decided to end it. She left that night after calling Shuny to help her move out what belongings she was able to throw together in a few bags and boxes. Our friends had mixed reactions about this. Shuny just saw it as another in a string of make ups and break ups. I wasn't so sure, but when Brandi and I got together to talk about things once more we arrived at an unexpected solution. She told me that she felt insecure in our relationship because I didn't talk much about the future or about a commitment to her. With more of a commitment she'd feel better about things. I wasn't about to propose under the gun, but we did agree that moving in together, officially, would be a suitable gesture.
That's how we decided to get the new, two bedroom apartment.
I stressed how much it would cost; that if we're living together then she'd be responsible for half the rent and half the bills. Brandi assured me she was up to it and the next thing I knew I was packing boxes and walking them two buildings over to the new place. She immediately took to decorating the place with lots of picture frames, and coasters with little pictures in them, and an area rug (which I actually liked a lot) to put between the couch and the TV. The place felt great, I can at least say that much. However, the bliss was short lived as we began to fight about new things, petty things. We'd fight about chores and who should clean the bathroom mirror and who should vacuum. We fought about laundry and who should wash it and who should fold it and put it away. We fought mostly about how she had an expectation of an acceptable level of clean that differed from mine.
At first I was dumbfounded; I couldn't believe that after everything we had been through, everything we had fought about, that our undoing would be over household chores. This went on for weeks; days would go by and nothing but then there'd be a flare up of a fight that never quite got put out. It just smoldered, waiting for the kindling of our next dissatisfaction.
Then, miraculously, things began to show signs of improvement. We weren't fighting as much, and I thought it was due to my continued effort to meet her expectations. Christmas approached and I tried to address all the things she said she needed from me: I tried to surprise her with tickets to the zoo because she once said offhandedly that she'd never been. I arranged a dinner for two at Benihana because she said it was her favorite restaurant. I got her DVDs of Dane Cook, Entourage and the complete season of Six Feet Under because, fuck, the liked DVDs. I noticed her lukewarm reaction to her gifts but dismissed it because...well, because I'm an idiot.
Two days later she broke up with me.
At the time I thought it was mutual; we agreed that we were both unhappy and that things hadn't changed for the better. I asked her what she wanted to do, what she needed me to do. She said there was nothing. She was done. And it was over just like that. She left the apartment that night and over the course of the following week she packed her things and began moving them out. She stopped sleeping in the apartment at night but would appear at eight in the morning and simply crash on the living room couch. We barely spoke those last few days; we'd exchange pleasantries during the day when our paths crossed and then she'd be gone at night only to again reappear in the morning asleep on the couch.
Then I began to notice things. One morning I awoke as the front door closed, Brandi was just arriving. I got out of bed to make coffee and when we saw each other something struck my eye. It was just the shirt she was wearing. I'd never seen her in it before and it was an awkward size, at least two sizes to large. I stood there, frozen, letting my slow brain try to make sense of what I was seeing. She noticed and said something to break my momentary trance. Whatever she said I just responded, "Nothing" and finished making my coffee.
But I grew suspicious.
I started piecing things together like a conspiracy theorist pouring over a declassified document:
"She doesn't sleep here but she comes home in the morning at the same time every time. School. She's staying with one of her girlfriends who still has to go to school in the morning and that's why she has to come back here to sleep. Who does she know who'd have school in the morning? Drawing a blank but thats still the best explanation. Okay but what about the shirt? The shirt wasn't hers but it could have been a friend of hers. It's too big to be a friend of hers and it was a high school shirt, you saw the name right on it. Okay, who do we know that she knows that went to that school? It's the local school genius, 'could be anybody. It was faded too. Yeah, an older shirt. Where would she get an old, broken in, comfy shirt from, only to come back here to sleep on the couch in the morning? Sleep like she hadn't slept all night? ...fuck."
I'm an idiot, but I'm not a fucking idiot.
For two days I mulled that over. Who it could be and would I really want to know? Two days I made myself get used to the idea that she was already fucking someone else. Two days of wondering how much of this went on before we actually broke up. Two wretched days of those thoughts and me telling myself I'm stupid to get worked up over it because we're already broken up!
Then one day I get off work an hour early.
During the drive home I just got this feeling. This crazy jealous feeling that I was going to walk in to the apartment and catch her there with some guy because she didn't expect me there until later. The whole drive home I thought about this; do I have a right to get angry if someone is there? Do I yell? Do I scream? Do I punch him in his goddamn stupid face?
I arrived home and paused at the front door before sliding the key into the lock. I opened the door to...
an empty apartment. No fireworks, no needle dragged across the record, nothing. Nothing except Brandi's digital camera resting on the couch cushion. I don't want to look, but I have to look.
That's when I see him, and what's worse is I know his name. See this guy is a friend of a Nick's, not only friend but Nick made him best man in his wedding over Brandon, me, and even his own brother. This guy is Nick's homie which made me a homie by association. Fuck, he'd even been in my house to drink my beer and watch UFC. Now he was fucking Brandi. The pictures, though thankfully not graphic implied all I needed to be absolutely sure that this was the guy, and they were indeed fucking. Then my brain started doing that conspiracy theorist thing again:
"If it's Nick's best man then that means Nick knows and if Nick knows since he's no good with secrets that means Shuny knows and if Shuny knows then it's a safe bet Brandon's fiancée Angela knows and if she knows then Brandon probably knows. My god that means every knew, but me."
The logic worked it's way through my head and I decided if I was every going to work it all the way out then I would need alcohol to lubricate the machinery. I sent Brandon a no nonsense text letting him know that we needed to hit a bar and right fucking now. He came through like a champ and soon we were seated at a table, pints in hand, exchanging stories about the current state of our lives. Then I shared with him my revelation and asked if he knew anything about it. He said he found out the night before and was given instruction not to tell me anything because Brandi was supposed to tell me.
Maybe I should have been but I wasn't really pissed at Brandon for not telling me, or Nick for that matter. Our three significant others had formed up a tight little clique and with Nick being married and Brandon being engaged it's understandable how one must defer to their better half in certain cases. Had the roles been reversed and had I found myself having to sit on that kind of secret I probably would have done the same thing.
Still, it would have been nice if someone would have said something.
So once I'd found out Brandi had been fucking some guy I know from work and had been since two days after we split I got to spend the following week dealing with my feelings about it. Judging from my past few entries it's obvious I've felt pretty fucking low. Each day gets better though, hours go by without me thinking about it, or her. I can resist the urge to check her MySpace because I know what I'll find and it won't do a lick of good to make me feel better. My friends have even tried offering up the single women in their family to help me get through this but I honestly can't begin to think about being with someone else right now...but I'll take a rain check.
Wow, as long as this entry turned out to be it has managed to alleviate some of this weight I've been carrying around in my chest all week. Now I just need to get my ass in the gym so I can mold myself back into someone that women make out with and take off their panties for.
What? I just got dumped. I can be shallow for a little while.