In Which I Confess to a Smarmy Habit, Part One

Yeah, yeah, I’ll get back to talking about the dissertation when I get back to thinking about the dissertation.  Baby Steps, you know.  I saw my advisor coming my way in the hallway yesterday, so I stopped dead, turned around, and started walking in the other direction.  In the animal kingdom, this is what is known as “running away.”  And speaking of being sneaky and gross…

I am kind of, a little bit, internet-stalking my husband’s ex-girlfriend (who is not, by the way, his penultamour.  I guess she’s a pre-penultamour, though in fact she was his last serious relationship before me, my direct predecessor being an “I don’t want to be alone on Valentine’s Day” fling).   And do you know why I do this, the internet stalkery?  BECAUSE IT IS FUN.  And it requires all of my research skills and none of my brain.

If this admission of mine bothers you, stop reading.  Because you and me, we have sort of a thing here, sort of a thing where maybe I make you smile or maybe you shake your head ruefully or woefully, but let’s face it, you like me.  And you don’t want me to be one of those people, those immature overshare-y internet people, so if you stop now, I’ll never be those people, and later we can proceed as if this never happened.

Okay, backstory: I used to be a pretty cool girlfriend in that I didn’t care if my boyfriend stayed in touch with his exes.  I probably wasn’t as cool as some people, but, you know, I wasn’t one to declare that all previous friendships ended with my arrival.  This is more wondrous when you consider that I don’t maintain friendships with exes.  Personally, by the time I’m done with a relationship, I’m done. Nothing salvagable remains.  Perhaps because, as was established above, I can be immature.  But I don’t think this is necessarily a sign of immaturity; I think it’s just that I invest a lot in the friendships I do maintain, and for me, there’s no point making that investment in people whom I’ve effectively ejected from my life.

Point is:  in my last relationship before the marriage, the boyfriend would regularly call his ex.  While sitting on my couch.  And sometimes, while using my cellphone.  Because he was a broke-ass quasi-musician with a barely-functioning car who didn’t own a cell phone and her number was long distance, and it made me feel good about myself to accept their friendship, and holy shit, who am I trying to kid here, he broke up with her to date me, and what was I supposed to do, pretend that didn’t happen?  And OF COURSE they got back together after WE broke up, and no, they aren’t together anymore, and Perpetua, did you learn this via any other means besides Internet Stalkery?  NO.  No I did not.  I learned it from the ex/un-ex/re-ex’s Myspace.  Because I am Like That.

But I don’t count that one as stalking.  I count that one as Gentle Curiousity.  Because I was in a relationship, and it turned out to be this relationship, the marriage one, and I was feeling all kinds of wonderful about the world, and so I looked her up on Myspace (I don’t have one of those, by the way, because apparently I think I’m too good for it), and I was sad that they were apart again, because I genuinely wanted them to be happy and settled and together.  No, I seriously did.  And you know it’s true because I’ve already told you how gross I am, so why would I start pretending otherwise now?

So anywayz…I’m in this relationship, the one that has led to marriage, and pregnancy, even!.  Hey now, don’t judge, it’s not like I’m those people with the Hitler Baby.  I do have smarmy habits, but I’m hoping they don’t impact my mothering potential.  At the beginning of our relationship, Wizard and his penultamour were friends.  He even, I kid you not, called her while on our first date because she was going abroad for a month and he wanted to say goodbye.  But what did I care?  I was smitten, and by dinner that night I knew we were in it to win it. I was thinking marriage, and so was he, though neither of us confessed to that for a good six months at least.  Don’t throw up.  It happens.  And the reason it happened was that I trusted him from minute one.  And I don’t trust anyone.  Ever.  I barely trust the laws of physics or nature.  So I was confident that this was it.

Problem was, his ex was buoyed by his relationship failures.  He dated a lot (via online sites, mostly) and so did she, and neither of them ended up with anything until I came along, and then, BAM, all his dating site profiles are deleted and he has a new girlfriend.  Smitten is a two-way street, you know.  So it was a bit of a surprise for her to suddenly be deprived of her best friend who was similarly unattached (and really, despite their history, it was no different for them than it was when you have a same-sex non-ex friend who ups and gets attached to a partner–it can be a bit of a shocker/downer).  And you know me.  I’m nice.  So it’s not like I’m going to object to them hanging out on occasion.  I was always invited.  I just had better shit to do, and it seemed “nice” to let them hang out together, just like I had fun hanging out with my friends by myself.  We were smitten kittens, no lie, but we weren’t annoying about it.

So all’s well, all’s going swimmingly, until…the Storm of Drunk-Dialing.  Followed quickly by the Onslaught of Even Drunker Texting.  And then, and then, dear readers, came the night when your faithful Perpetua had to deliver the more articulate and urbane version of “Bitch, step off.”  This was the night, the fateful night, of “There are animals! Animals!  Loose in my house! Can’t I sleep over?”

Oooohhhh, yeah.

This has gone on long enough, far longer than intended.  Conclusion in Part Two.