(Originally written on May 5, 2009)
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I am currently sitting in my apartment playing Power Hour by myself with Kings of Leon songs. Earlier this evening, I went out with Scarlet to Los Compadres for multiple margaritas. Regrettably, Gaston was supposed to go with me. Obviously, that didn’t happen.
Gaston just revealed to me on Sunday that he, too, knew the web address of my blog and had read it. There has been nothing but disaster since then. I just don’t understand, even now, why he waited over a week to tell me about it – especially since he was embarrassed by it and knew that our other friends had been reading it (even though I had no clue). Apparently, whenever I’m not at Polly’s, they all call him “Gaston” now – including the employees.
I mean, I fully understand his being upset, but WHY WAIT TO TELL ME?! Not just that, but he had been exceptionally caring and sweet to me during that period leading up to the disastrous revelation. I mean, he was kissing me in public, holding my hand, dancing with me, cuddling, and sleeping with me – all things that he doesn’t normally do, let alone, instigate. How can you do those things with someone when you’re fuming inside with anger at them?
Earlier today, he said that he would definitely consider giving me a second chance. Then, later on (about three or four hours later), he blew up: he had previously promised that he would go to Los Compadres with me since Teddy had been asking to meet him; he was waiting on Whitie to call him to take him to get a prescription filled (Whitie is legally blind, as many albinos are, and therefore can’t drive); there was an MMR Cinco de Mayo party going on starting at 3pm that I missed because I was waiting on the call from Gaston telling me that he was ready to go. I knew another party that he was going to started at 8pm, so at 7pm I decided to come down and ask him about going to Los Compadres since he hadn’t answered any of my calls or texts; I was locked out and he told me he’d come let me in in a minute. I waited for 15 minutes before going up to my apt to get my “break-in” card. Even after that, he made me wait a few minutes outside of his locked bedroom door before opening it.
Turns out that he was just locked in his room playing a computer game the whole time. That’s why I was kept waiting outside, being eaten alive by mosquitoes.
I then asked him if he still wanted to go to Los Compadres with me since it was already 7:30pm and I, with the information he had previously provided me with, knew that he had the birthday party to go to at 8pm.
As I said earlier, he was receptive to my request for a second chance. At this point, however, he was pissed-off that at 7:30pm he hadn’t realized that he had let the day pass him by. Thus, I assumed that his anger was due to these inconvenient circumstances (besides his obvious preexisting frustration with me, of course). Then he realized that he didn’t have a new razor head and “had to” shave with a dull one. I offered to go grab a new one from my apartment (which would have taken all of 30 seconds…), but he insisted on using his dull one. Why do that?
So I sat there and we had regular conversation while he was shaving. Then he checked his phone and finally got my texts about being eaten alive by mosquitoes. He proceeds to scold me, “You shouldn’t have let them bite you.” Okay…there was a swarm of probably 20 of them, and you can’t feel it while they’re biting you, only afterwards when you itch. I had three large welts on my back (I was wearing a floor-length, strapless dress), two on my right arm, and one on my left shoulder. He then EXPLODED and ensued yelling at me for scratching the bites, “You’re not supposed to scratch them! They’re going to get infected!”
I know that you aren’t supposed to scratch them, but in all my life, I have been bitten by thousands of mosquitoes (they love me for some reason) and I have always scratched my bites and never once has one of them gotten infected.
In a fit of rage, he left the apartment and I followed him out. I mentioned that the whole going-to-his-friend’s-birthday-party-tonight thing was probably “more important” than accompanying me to Los Compadres. Then he ERUPTED and started speed-walking to his car, not allowing me to even explain myself: a couple of weeks ago, he was supposed to go to her dance recital, but he didn’t go because he was hung-over and we were just chilling on the sofa, watching TV. Finally, I was able to get a word in and explain this, upon which he spat back, “Well I wonder what I was doing instead,” and then furiously drove off, causing my major crisis of the day.
• • • • •
Yuengling wants to be there for me, but he is the cause of this whole thing in the first place. I mean, he told Gaston about the time he (Yuengling) kissed me when I was sloshed (after which, I told him that it wasn’t okay) without ever even telling me he felt that was necessary or that he was going to do it. Then, Napoleon told Gaston that he had seen Yuengling leaving my apartment at 8am one morning. Okay – there was one time that we accidentally had passed out on my sofa while watching An American Tail: Fivel Goes West after an evening at Polly’s. Yuengling and I both agree (conflicting Napoleon’s account) that we woke up by around 4:30am and he definitely left by 5am.
• • • • •
I am now just deciding to avoid Gaston at all costs. I have essentially lost almost – no, all – of my friends due to this and have no one other than Angel and Scarlet to turn to for advice.
• • • • •
I honestly love him. I know a million people can tell me that I don’t deserve the way he treats me; BUT I also know that a million people would never do to him the disservice that I did by posting our personal interactions publically over the internet.
I have royally fucked myself over.
