My ex will start a fight
Na na na na na na na, we’re all gonna get in a fight!
In my 15 random things about me, or whatever I called it. I mentioned that I have been in two fist-fights, and a couple of folks (in particular, the Writing Runner) wanted more details. So here you go.
The first one’s story is a little dull. This is the one that ended up in a draw.
Before I begin, you ever have one of those friends who always seem to get into some BS? And, somehow you get dragged into his/her BS?
Ok, a female friend and I were hanging out (this event took place at least 12 years ago). She was being nasty mean to a couple of guys at the bar. She neglected to say that she was antagonizing the guys. Note: I no longer hang with her. She is one of those types who likes to throw rocks and hide her hands . . . or in this case, throw ice cubes from her cocktail. Long story, short (because the other story is more “interesting”). Somehow, I got dragged into her bullshit because I was trying to defend her. The way how she told the story is that the guys were being disrespectful to her, and one of them put his hands on her. I’m Southern, and you just do not touch a woman. Even though we were purely friends, I wanted to defend her. The fistfight did not get too violent because folks broke up the fight after a couple of swings. Over that year, I noticed that other folks said that she kind of did the same thing with them. It seems that pretty much is/was her MO to get attention.
Second one. This story is a bit embarrassing. Actually, I wrote the story, but I realized that I needed to include a back story.
For about a decade I was in this weird on/off toxic relationship with a guy. I would joke with my friends and call him my “fake ex-boyfriend” . . . actually, I guess “ ex-fake boyfriend” would be more correct. The pattern of this “relationship” was a follows: we’d hook up for a few months; I would get pissed that he was living with another guy with no intention of leaving; I’d start dating someone else for a couple of years; that relationship would fail (for any number of reasons); we’d start hooking up again; I’d get pissed off; start dating someone else; that relationship would fail; AAAANNNNNDDDD repeat. I think that happened for about three or four cycles. Deep down, I know that we were never that “perfect” couple. Sometimes, it’s easier to go back rather than starting anew. To be honest, we only had sex and booze as a common factor. Hey, both can be fun.
One night we had a lovely time at a comedy show. After the bar, we went to another bar and probably had way too much to drink. Well . . . we probably had way too much to drink at the comedy show. Those whiskey cocktails were very delicious, and you know what they say about that dark liquor. Anywho, we are the second bar, and he starts accusing me of “cheating” on him. Ummmmmmmmmm, don’t you live with another man? Last time, I checked, I did not have a commitment to another person. Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. I was a side piece and I was perfectly fine with it at that point in my life. My thing was, I was perfectly fine with my side piece role; he wanted to make it more aka control me. So we are going back and forth in raised tones over my “cheating”. I was sitting on ready, and it was bringing me to a dark place. Rather than concede to his bullshit, bust him upside the goddamn head, and be seen as an angry black man (that comes later). I simply left his ass at the bar.
Since I had a nice buzz going, I went to another bar alone. You know that fucker followed me to the other bar. Since I was chatting with the bartender and a couple of folks at the bar, the accusations of cheating were hurled once again. To be honest we were discussing America’s Next Top Model and Days of Our Lives (the bartender was an extra on Days). Random, I wonder if that soap opera is still on the air?
Once again, we are arguing about some bullshit. I took a sip of my beer and I remember feeling a pain in my mouth. I thought I had swallowed a piece of glass from the beer glass. NOPE. He punched me in the face, and my fucking front tooth was in the damn pint glass. It was like a cartoon reaction. I looked at my tooth. Looked at him. Looked at my tooth in the glass. Then, his ass tried to run. I remember hurling him against the wall. When I told my friends about this, one of them said “Oh so you Uncle Phil’ed him”
Immediately, the folks at the bar threw him out and made sure he was off the street letting me leave. The bartender and the guy at the bar said that they would be witnesses if I needed. Later, I learned that he “threatened” the other guy at the bar for talking to me when they were in the bathroom together.
Man, this is long. I may have to do a part two.
Now this is where I fucked up. He’s gone, and I hailed a cab to go home. I tell the cab driver that I’m going to “Fifty-ninth street and Second Avenue; Roosevelt Island Tramway.” Trying to say that phrase is what made me snap. Since I did not have one of my front teeth, I had a really weird lisp when saying F’s, S’s, and R’s. I think that I was more enraged with not being able to say the address than getting my tooth knocked out of my damn head. Then, I remembered that I had to give a lab meeting in a couple of days.
Yeah, I definitely need to do a part two.
Long story, long. I made the cab drive me to his apt. building. We had a fist fight up and down the street. That same friend was like Y’all were figting like Peter Griffin and the Chicken from Family Guy?”
Basically, the fight ended at a Dunkin’ Donuts (the workers at 3am were probably not expecting an “exciting” Tuesday night. Eh, maybe they are used to riff raffness at 3am); the police were called; and I was super lucky that I was not arrested. To be honest, he had a LOT to do with me not getting arrested, because the police were quick to believe his story. Then again, he looked like he was on the losing end of the fight.
I can admit that I made A LOT of mistakes that night. There were so many, I wish I dids and I wish I would haves. All I do is never let someone every get me to that place. In my small defense, I did extract myself from the first situation, but I was followed to the other place.
Oh, he did give me the 3000 bucks for the new tooth. I should have told him that it was going to cost 4000 bucks, then I could have had an extra 1000 bucks to play with. My scamming ass.
One more thing. I a few months later, I was celebrating my birthday at a bar with my new beau and a few friends. Actually, I think my friends scared him away. He flaked on our next day to see Jurassic Park in the Park. I even made a fun sangria for the stupid date. Anyway. Eh, he was kind of boring anyway. One of my friends was like let’s go to the piano and listen to the guys sing. This bar is notorious for cabaret type nights when random guys oversing with annoying over the top vibrato runs. I was all like “I don’t want to go the damn piano and hear those howling whores”. Eventually, we went over to the piano. . . they did sing Happy Birthday to me. The next day at work, my friend let me know that “ex-fake boyfriend” was across the bar, and she was trying to diffuse the situation before there was a situation by going to the piano. She was like “You think I wanted to hear those howling whores sing?” Now, THAT is someone having your back.
That’s some craziness! I did the on and off again thing for about a year naively believing he wasn’t sleeping with his ex girlfriend who still lived with him. I’ll admit the sex and being in a shitty place in my life kept making me lather rinse repeat. We can chalk it up to young and dumb right?
It sucks you lost your tooth but glad he paid to fix it. Thanks for sharing!
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“We can chalk it up to young and dumb right?” The sad thing is that I was in my early 30’s. 😉
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