Tag Archives: Un-boyfriend

Un-boyfriend unprepared

23 Mar

As I was perusing the face pages earlier this week a memory popped up reminding me that Un-boyfriend and his wife were celebrating 8 years of marriage.  Un-boyfriend and I dated briefly when I was in my early 20’s.  Some people thought we would end up together, he was one of those people.  Our relationship morphed from a romantic one into more of a brother-sister.  Over the years we’ve stayed in touch and will text/email from time to time.  Typically it’s to send loving messages such as:

  • You’re dead to me.
  • Goodbye forever.
  • You’re dead inside.

True friendship.

When the memory popped up in my Facebook feed I immediately sent him a text message to wish him and his wife a happy anniversary.  He immediately fired back with, “Is it today?  Or yesterday? Holy fuck I totally forgot.  Am out of town and haven’t said anything to her yet.”  Of course I wrote back to tell him he was a total asshole and he better call her and send her some god damned flowers.

Guess I shouldn’t be surprised as he’s the same man who I remind every single year for the last 20 to call his mother on her birthday.  I’ve added a reminder to my calendar to remind him when it’s his anniversary.  I’m a good god damned friend.

Nice to know that some things never change.

Protected: I Do (Not Plan on Being Designated Driver)

18 Mar

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A Date Update

1 Feb

Success!  The date has been chosen for Un-boyfriend’s nuptials.  While there’s ZERO chance for romance with Cowboy Junkie, we are guaranteed to have a fabulous time.  Mainly because he can match my mocking skills with no trouble.

Now all I need is god damned dress.

Would it be wrong to wear a white dress and veil to the wedding?

I Always Wanted Some Freckles

28 Oct

Un-boyfriend enjoys telling people that he dumped me.  He often neglects to mention that the real reason we broke up is that I didn’t see the relationship going any further and he thought we had a future together.  You say “tomato”, I say “I dumped you.”  Whatever.

The night before we broke up, we were at a huge party and I happened to let this hot red headed guy, let’s call him Freckles, give my hooters a squeeze.  Hey, I was drunk AND had a massive crush on Freckles.  Shockingly enough, that pissed Un-boyfriend off and he proceeded to hang all over me like white on rice.

It’s been 10 years since Un-boyfriend and I broke up and 9 since Freckles moved away.  Yesterday, I got a facebook friend request from Freckles and I swooned the second I got it.  Right after accepting the request, I emailed Un-boyfriend,

You know who just sent me a facebook friend request?  That dude that squeezed my hooters in front of you the night before we broke up.  Man was he hot.  Still can’t see why you got so mad.  It’s not like you and I were dating or anything…oh wait, we were.

He responded back with,

You were a jerkwad that night.  I do remember you wearing some miller lite flashing light thing.  And you wonder why I hate you.  We probably would have lasted longer if I had just thrown some beads at you and yelled at you to show your tits.

Now, how about you make me a taco and while you’re at it, my bathroom needs a good scrub down.  Do it or I’ll report you to immigration.

It’s a wonder we didn’t work out.

It’s Official

20 Apr

Un-boyfriend is engaged!  He popped the question on Saturday.  I’m trying to get the details out of him, but he’s freaking impossible.

On a totally different note, I have lost my voice.  We’re going on 3 days now of me not being able to share my melodic voice with the people.  It’s tragic.

Oh, and Lola and I went to a sex boot camp yesterday.  The topic?  Sword Swallowing.

Oh, and 3D emailed me yesterday…

13 Apr

Un-boyfriend just called me to find out if his girlfriend had been rude to me on Thursday night. They had both been extraordinarily drunk that night we were all together, and he found out from a mutual friend of theirs that she had been worried that she had been rude to me.

He apologized to me, and for some reason, it makes me want to cry.

He says things are different now and she’s not as jealous as she used to be, but there’s something that still lingers there. I told him that I didn’t like that she was jealous, and I felt like things would be better once they were engaged. That when she had the ring on her finger, she wouldn’t see me as a threat anymore. He asked me if I was uncomfortable around her, and I told him I was. That I didn’t know how to help her see that there was nothing between us, and she had nothing to worry about. He hadn’t realized that it makes me feel uncomfortable knowing how she feels about me he. And he was sorry. “I’m sorry she makes you feel like that,” he said. “I don’t want her to make you uncomfortable, you’re my friend.”

In his mind, she should make an effort to be nicer to me. When I asked him why he felt that way, he said that it was because we were close friends.

It made me happy. It made me sad. And I’m struggling to keep it together at my desk right now.

Not sure why it evoked such a reaction from me.

Maybe it’s because I’ve felt that we’ve grown apart since they started going out.

Maybe it’s because I thought that our friendship was waning.

It seems like I was wrong, and I’m glad.

Protected: Un-boyfriend’s in Love

23 Mar

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Meme’s And Tags Are For Suckers, I Guess I Can Suck It

5 Jan

The tagging and meme’s are to blogs as chain letters are to email.  Take that analogy, SAT professor.

Usually when someone decides that I’m worthy of a tag and/or meme, I pretend like I didn’t notice it or that I’m too busy and important to bother carrying on the tradition.  Recently, however, Acorn King tagged me and the concept is a good one.  The tag has evolved as each blogger has decided to give it their own spin.  When Father Muskrat had it, he changed it to 7 random acts by 7 random whores.  Acorn King decided that he’d change it to 3 embarrassing sex stories involving his friends.  Oh, and I decided to change the tag all over again.  Now it’s 3 stories that involve my exes making jack asses of themselves.

I’ve dragged my feet at getting the post up, but mainly because I was trying to come up with good stories to share.  You’re in luck, kids, I finally have the stories!!

Sleeping In The Wet Spot

My college boyfriend, Smalltown Boy, is now a professor at our alma mater.  I’m sure he would be more than delighted to know that I am sharing this story with you and the rest of the free world.  One night in the fall semester of our Senior year, Smalltown Boy and his roommates decided to throw a huge party-which they pretty much did every single weekend.  On this particular night, Smalltown Boy got butt wasted.  So wasted that I had to take him up to bed early.  After some unsuccessful attempts at groping me, Smalltown Boy passed out with his hand down my pants.  I quietly cursed him, removed his hands from Vageena Davis, and rolled over to my side of the bed and fell asleep.

A few hours later, Smalltown Boy woke me from a dead sleep by crawling on top of me.  I thought that he was trying to start things up again, and promptly told him to get off of me and let me sleep.  “I want to sleep on your side of the bed.  I need the window,” he told me.  “Bastard is going to get sick,” I thought, so I let him roll over me to get to the window.  As I made my way to his side, I suddenly felt it: a giant wet spot.  “Did we secretly have sex in the middle of the night and I just don’t remember?” I asked myself.  Nope, the wet spot was way too big for that.

I think you know where this is going.  That’s right, he peed in the bed and he wanted me to sleep in it.  Look, I’ve heard about sleeping in the wet spot before, but there’s no f’ing way that I was going to sleep in someone’s pee.  I got up, got dressed, andwalked home (thankfully, we lived on the same street about 3 houses apart).  The next day when he came to find me he looked awfully sheepish.  He pretended not to remember anything that had happened the night before.  Nice play, but I didn’t believe it for a second.

How to Make a Peen Turn Blue

In the two-some years that Un-boyfriend and I dated, we only went away on vacation one time.  One miserable time.  We took a week long trip to the beach.  I was so excited!!  In preparation for our trip, I went out and bought all sorts of accessories: gold circle coin condoms, flavored ones (not that I was going to stick them in my mouth), ribbed ones, and green ones.  As far as I was concerned, we were going to be spending the bulk of our time knocking boots.  Unfortunately, he seemed to have other plans…

The second we got to the hotel room, I started getting undressed, and he turned on the TV.  He completely ignored me for 2 hours because the NBA playoffs were on and he’s totally gay for the NBA.  No, really.   After 15 minutes of trying to “talk him” into turning off the TV, I ended up throwing a fit and then reading my book.

Blah, blah, boring details, it was finally time to hit it.  I chose the green condom for our first romp of the trip.  About 18 seconds into it (literally), he started saying, “Ouch, this hurts!”  Puzzled, I told him to shut up and keep going.  “NO!!  This really hurts!!  It feels like it’s ripping off my skin!!”  He climbed off the bed and went running into the bathroom with the green (glow in the dark) condom on his upstanding citizen.  We both cried: him like a baby and me from the hysterics I was in.

“It won’t come off!  I can’t get it off!  What did you give to me??”  I fell off the bed laughing.  “I’m losing sensation!  I think I might have to go to the hospital!”  More weeping from me as I got off the floor to try to help him.  He was buck naked in the bathroom, hunched over his Oscar Mayer weiner, trying to pull the condom from the tip.   The second I saw him standing in the bathroom trying to take the thing off, I lost it all over again.    “It’s not funny!  It’s turning blue!”  I swear I have never wept like that before.

Remember the Time We…

Mr. Big X and I loved going to New Orleans together.  The first time we went was about 6 months into the relationship: it was our Valentine’s gift to one another.  Bliss.  It was bliss.   Months later we broke up.  A year later, we got back together.  We were living in different cities at the time, and decided it would be romantic to meet up in New Orleans to rekindle the romance.  We booked the same hotel, and met at the airport.

The 2nd trip was just as great as the 1st one.  The hotel was beautiful, the food was delicious-as was the sex.  We spent the days walking around the French Quarter, and the evenings locked in our hotel room.  On our 4th night there, after a toss in the hay, we were laying in bed.    I was sure that I was laying in the arms that I would one day marry, and remember thinking that life couldn’t get any better than this.  “This reminds me so much of the last time we were here,” he said to me.  I asked him to expand.

Mr. Big X: Don’t you remember?  It was that night that we went to [insert restaurant night here].
Me: What restaurant?  I don’t remember that.
Mr. Big X: How can you not remember!!  We had that bottle of wine and that really funny waiter!
Me: Nope, no recollection.
Mr. Big X: The day we went to the aquarium?
Me: Um…no.
Mr. Big X: Come on!  You loved that place.  You had that martini with the candy in it.
Me: I’ve never had a martini with a candy in it.
Mr. Big X: Of course you have!
Me: No.  I have not.  I would remember if I had had one of those.  I think you’re confusing me with someone else.
Mr. Big X: NO!!  It was you!
Me: No, it was not.  Oh, and I hate to tell you, but I’ve never been to the aquarium here.
Mr. Big X: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah, I think I’d remember spending the day with a bunch of fish and then having some candy martini.
Mr. Big X:  I thought it was you…

For about an hour he tried to convince me that I was totally wrong.  Until it all came spilling out.  Such a gentlemen.  Mr. Big X had confused me with his last girlfriend.  Who he had just happened to also take to New Orleans.  And stayed with in the very same room.  Man, was it fun trying to see him dig himself out of that hole.  Such a wonder that it didn’t turn out…

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I’m not one for tagging, but I’m dying to know what Pistols would have to share with the world.  Do with this as you will.  Write about 7 whores a whoring, 3 embarrassing sex stories involving your friends, or 3 stories in which you illustrate how your exes were jack asses.  Or do something different.  Get all Nike up on it (ie: just do it).

Pistols, don’t say I never gave you anything.