Stinky Pinky

I got a lot of “So why are doing this?” from a few of my peeps. A) Eff his stuff. B) He can pay someone else to do his site. He doesn’t deserve the work I put into it. I just want to make it clear that I was not doing this for any kind of reconciliation grounds. As much as I may miss him, there is no way that I would ever be able to trust him again. There would always be that warm memory of “remember how you made me feel like shit on my birthday” that I don’t think I’d be able to get past.

The reason I wanted to give him his stuff back was:

  1. It is the right thing to do.
  2. I’m pretty proud of the site I built for him. I do not like the idea of wasted work. Also—while highly debatable: I am not charging him a penny. I told him that I would do it as a school project. I am a woman of my word. When I say I’m going to do something, you bet your sweet ass that I am on it. Maybe he doesn’t have very many people in his life that are like that. What you say means something. I don’t care if you’re selling margarine, office chairs or telling someone how you feel about them. It’s just the principle of it all.
  3. I’m doing this in good faith to the Universe, that if I return said items, I will quit being haunted by him every minute of every day. Seriously. That is all I want. It sounds crazy but everywhere I go I’m reminded of him. Olympic announcers with the same last name, street guitarist playing rare sweet Connor Oberst songs from the mixed CD he made for me, concert posters of shows that we went to being Cleveland Ad Association Addy Winners and Huey Lewis still popping up in my iPod rotation even though I swear I deleted him from all of my playlists, etc… (I just need to wait until Huey Lewis can be mine again, not tainted by Mr. Pink proclaiming that “Happy to be Stuck with You” is our song.) I know it sounds silly, but geez-oh-man, I need a break. To be honest the trip to Chicago was great, but what I really need is a vacation from myself.

So I had an idea of how I wanted this exchange of goods to go with Mr. Stinky Pinky. I lost my mind and went shopping the night before. I ended up spending a fortune at Sephora and H&M on a shirt that had the just right amount of cleavage.  (At least someone made out big in this deal.) The idea was this: And the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again… maybe if they had had an eighteen dollar retractable eye shadow brush…

This is not the story that all womankind has been waiting for. I had a lot on my mind and I had every intention of letting Mr. Pink exactly what I think of him and his shenanigans. We’re thirty. If you just wanted an eff buddy there are proper procedures in place that can make this very simple. And even if I declined, no big deal. He’s fully capable of finding someone who is into that. I think that the worst part of this whole experience has been the fact not only did he harvest feelings from me because of the things he said to me, but he also made me feel guilty about it. I don’t really know if that makes sense. (It sure as hell made me a little crazy.) In between his “I-really-like-you-but-you’re-not-good-enough-to-be-my-girlfriend” speeches, they’d be the occasional: “Haha, you really like me” dig. This has just been such a total mind fuck.

So armed with whore eyes (I never wear eyeliner), a new jacket and a witty response to any he could possibly say I went to Panera to meet him. Of course I was early. Which worked out well cause I needed to stake out an outlet for my computer. But as I waited for him my stomach began to drop to the floor. Why so nervous?

I felt like I got hit by a Mac truck when he walked in. Sweating, shaking and stuttering. Nice. Classic Cassidy. Wait what? That’s not me at all. He looks right at me and says, “New Jacket?”

“Not really.”

“I think it is,” he says to me as if he had been following in my full on panic the day before. I felt like I was dressed for the prom at Panera and he could see right through me. He’s getting everything he wanted: His stuff back, a free (at least a $500) website, he broke my heart and was now making me feel like a moron. Yes! Why didn’t I just ask him if he wanted diamonds, too… “I hear they are really hard/dangerous to find. Can I, for you? Can I?” I should have worn a prom dress. It would have been hilarious. And accurate of how I felt.

We immediately  got on the horn with his web service provider. He needed to give them his credit card info and I needed some direction on how to upload the files. We were on hold for quite a bit and he tells me that the customer he was working for now had given him some homemade wine.

After everything was set up with the service provider they told us it would take two hours for things to be ready to upload. I was pissed. I wanted this stuff done yesterday. I was totally annoyed. After today I was to never think of, hear from or have to do stuff for Mr. Stinky Pinky. We decided that I could just do it later and that he would email me the instructions that the service provider emailed him.

He also owed  me $35 for the stock photography that I had to purchase for his site. I know I’m an idiot for doing the work for free, but I’ll be damned if I was going to spend any of my own money on this project. I let him know via email that he needed to bring it with him. He, of course does not. He tells me to follow him to the bank.

Before we leave he asks me what I am doing for the rest of the day. I told him that it’s the last two weeks of school and I have some pretty huge projects I am working on. I asked him if he was going to spend the rest of the day drinking his homemade wine. He told me he had to go back to work for the guy who gave it to him.

“You would like him. If you liked meeting new people,” he muffles.


“Just kidding, just kidding.”

(WTF, double WTF, is that supposed to mean? Sorry I don’t want to bang every Jersey Shore looking chick in Strongsville. Sorry that if I like someone I have no problem being genuine and am willing to give it an honest shot. Sorry I am a one man woman. Anywho, I think that’s what he meant by it. He’s so dumb. I wonder if he knows how dumb he is? I hope that him and his stupid little digs have a great life together.)

So I follow him to the bank. I pulled up next to him. (Side note: My car is a disaster. Especially since I quit smoking: There are about ten million empty water bottles in my car. It’s wretchedly embarrassing. Seriously, if I was ever deserted in my car in a remote ditch somewhere, I could live quite comfortably for at least a month.) He opens the passenger door to get in.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“I just thought it’d be easier.” Easier for what? Easier for nothing. I remember plenty good everything that you said the last time you sat in the passenger seat of my car. Stay the eff out of my messy car. I don’t want you to muck it up. (These are all things I wanted to say, but didn’t.)

I grabbed his massive CD cases out of the back seat of my car. He hands me $40. As I’m digging in my purse for change (I do not need his five dollars), he says thank you. (No shit, Sherlock.)

“Hey,” he says, “Really. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

I said, “I know, you should.”

His parting words were: “Oh, and you should probably clean your car.”

(Dear heaven above: if I could freeze time and punch someone in the face, this would have been one of those times.)

Me: “You want to clean it for me?”

He gets the biggest shit eating grin on his face that I have ever seen. He says, “You want me to clean it for you?” as if I had just asked him to service me in a behind-closed-doors manner. REALLY? A) the nerve B) What an effing chicken shit. If there was any kind of any thought on his part for him to try and get in my good graces (or my pants) again, he opts for taking the route of insulting me then trying turning it into a sexual innuendo.

I snapped back: “I do not want or need you to do anything for me.”

Him, still smiling: “Oooh, you sound mad.” (Of all the things to take pleasure in…)

Me: “No, why would I be mad at you? —Bye.” I got into my car and drove away.

“HAHA!” I thought! In the words of Jordan Cox on Scrubs to JD: “I NOTHING YOU!”, “Ich gewinne!” (German for: “I win!”) “Denied!”, “Does someone have an icepack, because I think that was a burn!!!”,  “Chlorophyll, how bout bore-ophyll!”,  “Seacrest Out!”…

Yeah, I didn’t really feel any of those things. Still just heart broken. Was this really it? Why didn’t I let him get in my car? Really, I just drove away like that? Sad and wishing I had been able to say all of the things that I had wanted to say to him. For example: When we set up the appointment to meet, he told me he had just left the gym and was ‘getting big.’

WHERE THE EFF WAS MY BRAIN? WHERE WAS I? WHERE WAS THE: “I thought you said you were getting big?”

WHERE WAS THE: “I think you lost something way more valuable than your CDs”???

And the worst —where was the: “I miss you, too”?

Anywho, it’s done. (Except for his site, of course. Seriously, the delay is 100% school stress related.)

Dear Universe,

Are you listening to my prayers? I have done every action in an effort to mentally abort this a-clown out of my life. I do seriously hope you fall in line with rest of us.

What are the results?

Friday night I am listening to my non-profit commercial free radio station in Akron while working on school projects. The DJ plays three of the saddest, “I-miss-you-and-want-to-stab-my-eyes-out” songs in world.

After the last song, she apologizes saying, “Geeze, that was some seriously some super sad and depressing stuff. My apologies. How ’bout something a little more uplifting, an oldy, but goody, the always charming Huey Lewis…”

…of course.


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March 2010
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