I’m constantly (and unsuccessfully) trying to prove to myself and others that I’m not crazy. It’s a fine tightrope walk: behaving uber responsibly 80% of the time, and then totally bonkers the other 20%. This is an improvement, years ago it could have been 50/50. I haven’t had a boyfriend over the last 20 years that hasn’t got a warning from someone ahead of time. Some, if questioned, might even put the crazy quotient higher, but I choose to avoid those people whenever possible.
So I am always thrilled when I meet someone else who is walking that same razor’s edge. We recognize each other immediately and either have some kind of major blowout and then become friends later on, or simply immediately bond over mutual stories of retardation.
My friend S told me one such story today, which I felt I must share.
I have to preface this by saying that she is in program and has been sober for some time now. I didn’t know her when she was using but she says she was a crazed dilettante cokehead. Now she is sort of trying to decide whether she’s straight or gay while working her ass off in the world of styling and regaling the lucky few with her wonderful sense of humor.
S–: So I have a great story for you, you’re going to love this.
Me: Fabulous, bring it on.
S–: So my ex-boyfriend calls me at midnight last night, DRUNK. He’s slurring, he sounds like an idiot. I say, “Why do you call a sober person when you’re drunk? You know I’m going to ruin it for you.” And he says, “You been fooling around with any girls lately?”
Me: So he’s jealous?
S–: I don’t know. So I say, “Maybe, what’s it to you?” And he tells me that he ran into this guy we both know, that I don’t know all that well, and the guy told him he’s seen me all over town making out with women and that I’m a big dyke now.”
Me: So what?
S–: Well, I’m like, who is this guy to be talking about my personal life? What business is it of his? And my ex is harassing me about it, all wasted, and I’m like fuck you, I’ll do what I want. And I hang up the phone, and I’m PISSED.
Me: Uh oh.
S–: Yeah! So this morning, I’m in the street, I’m carrying a hundred bags and trying to deal with work and I can barely walk, but I still call the guy.
Me: Your ex or the other one?
S–: The other one.
Me: So what did you say?
S–: I start screaming at him: “How dare you talk about me like that, you don’t know what my life is about you nosy asshole, why am I getting calls in the middle of the night from my wasted ex because of your big fat mouth, on and on and on and ON.” I just GO OFF.
Me: Oh my God, you did not! So what was his response?
S–: I barely let him talk. He started to say he didn’t know what I was talking about, that he thinks I’m great, he would never do that, whatever, and I just hung up on him.
Me: Wow. Bitch!
S–: Shut up! So I’m all fired up and I call my ex, and I say, “I gave your fucking friend a piece of my mind, that fucker.” And my ex says, “You IDIOT. He didn’t say anything to me, I never talked to him, you dumb, crazy bitch. I was just fishing for information!”
Me: Ruh Roh.
S–: TOTALLY! Now I’m mortified. MORTIFIED. Do you understand? Now I’m not just the crazy cokehead, instead I’m the crazy was-a-cokehead dyke who stands on the street screaming at people over the phone about shit that doesn’t exist!
Me: Did you call the guy back and apologize?
S–(flopping back in her chair and sighing): I sent him a text. I can’t deal, I’m so embarrassed.
Me: I always send emails the next day. Like, “Oopsy, sorry I was a total asshole/almost broke your hand/threw that drink/had a giant tantrum over nothing/whatever last night. Friendsies?”
S–: Does that work?
Me: Nah. They just say it’s cool so they don’t have to deal with me. They still hate me.
S–: Agh, horrible. Well, I love you.
Me: I love you too, you crazy fucking bitch.
MISS ANTHROPE'S HOUSE OF HIGH DRAMA 
I've never sent any such next day email/text, have I?
Ruh Roh.
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