You are Found Guilty of Gaslighting and Sentenced to Embarassment

I penned this post back in January on my phone in Penn Station after a conversation with a boy made me absolutely furious.

At the time, I didn’t have the balls to press post. Now I figure why the fuck not. So here ya’ll go.  

 

Let me pull a Taylor Swift blog style for a moment.

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Ever since the conception of Twenty Something What is my life and the first post I ever penned about “I’m Sorry” gifts, I’ve been on and off reeling from a rather interesting encounter with a supposed textbook Southern charmer from North Carolina. He is the mainly guilty party in my Hall of Lame I’m sorry gifts post.

Let me give you a quick profile. Thirty years old, small southern accent, works in the food industry and I met him in a bar that he managed. Super polite to everyone, but you’d never peg him as a huge ladies man. Initially perceived as a very sweet and nice guy that was raised to be a gentleman.

On top of being a liar, he is also guilty of gaslighting. For those unfamiliar with the term, it refers to an asshole who does something warranting a rather negative reaction. If said reaction makes them unhappy, they feebly attempt to make you feel bad about it. Gaslighting aims to make victims doubt their own perceptions and feel guilt.

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For those that need a more substantial example let’s say Mr. Charmer practically BEGS you to be exclusive with him, and as soon as you decide to not use your charm, sass, and boobs to get drinks and flings with other guys, his list of highly questionable actions start piling up. The sequence of events is as follows.

1. Charmer decides to bring me and my girlfriend to a friend’s house after meeting up with several people at a bar. Call it an after-party of sorts where I am meeting his friends for the first time. More people come to the house, including his friend of the female variety who I had met a few weeks previous. I met her, she met me, and we exchanged the usual pleasantries before he privately explained to me that they had never hooked up… ever. She comes in and I smile, and I am met with a look of drunken disdain. Girl was throwing shade like Regina George.

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Oh well, hello to you to. Well I brush it off since I’m in a 4loko haze and there’s the sweetest dog at the party that I’d rather hang out with anyways. My next question is why Charmer and this bitch are in the bathroom for an hour? I guess Charmer didn’t let his friends in on his manipulations, because it’s one of them who told me the truth about the two having previously dated.

Charmer spends the next 30 mins wondering why I’m not going anywhere near him and why I’m leaving the party. He insists they were “just talking” and for the next few weeks, continues to tell me nothing happened.

2. Then comes the actual sleeping with this girl, while we’re supposedly exclusive. I find out from her, not him. In fact he goes a few weeks without telling me. She also confirms my suspicions on the bathroom incident and when I bring it up, Charmer claims he really did not think anything happened, and that he didn’t find out the truth until a few days later. Apparently, he was really just THAT drunk.

3. He begs to be let back into my life. He actually wants to be my BOYFRIEND. He decides it’s worth cutting all ties with her even when I refuse to stop seeing other guys.

4. For a few months, he’s attempting to win me back, and in some cases it’s working. I refuse to be completely exclusive, but I rarely have time to spend with anyone else. I don’t think I can handle him talking to her again and he tells me he won’t. He tells me I’m the first girl he loves and that I’m the one. I take it with a grain of salt, even if I secretly wish he was being honest. I make it clear that any evidence that he’s speaking to her and I walk out the door.

5. I find out that he’s been texting her behind my back. BIG SURPRISE. I give him up.

6. He starts sending me I’m sorry gifts when I move to Boston.

7. I blog about it.

 

It wasn’t until yesterday that he discovered my blog post. The reaction to me calling his gifts pathetic and selfish set the following conversation into motion:

Charmer: I’m not sending you anything in the mail. I’m not trying to make you a true piece of artwork that I try really hard on and have it mocked on your blog. Maybe later when you think I’m no longer sending you “I’m Sorry” presents. Those were things to just make you smile and start your day off with a hit. I said I’m sorry, I don’t need to give you gifts for that.

Me: I dislike getting your gifts because every nice thing you do for me is in some way for you to feel less bad about what you did. Did you ever try to make me smile when it wasn’t after you did something horrible to me? No. The first nice thing you did for me was after the bathroom incident. The second? After you slept with her. Sending me the flowers? After you texted her. While we were together? Nothing.

Charmer: I’m trying to show you that I care.

Me: So you didn’t care for me when everything was fine and I wasn’t halfway walking out on you? You should’ve showed me you cared by NOT lying to me. I guess buying me flowers is a lot easier.

The conversation becomes circular. He keeps claiming he loves me and cares for me, while I start getting furious. I just want him to stop the word vomit! I hate word vomit… especially when it’s of the bullshit variety.

Charmer: I didn’t realize the damage I was causing when I did those things.

Me: Are you stupid?

And the gaslighting begins.

Charmer: Conversation is over if you’re going to start calling me stupid. I wish you could believe me when I tell you that I loved and cared for you but I know everything I did counters that.

Me: You lied to me? That’s stupid. You’re stupid because you did the one thing I said would result in me leaving and then bellyache about losing me. A stupid person counter acts what they want.

Charmer: Have a good night.

BUT ladies and gentlemen, it doesn’t end there. The gaslighting continues.

Charmer: I ask you not to call me stupid in this conversation and you do the opposite. I’ll talk to you all night and day about what happened to us but I’m not going to be talked down in this manner.

Me: If you don’t want to be a liar, don’t lie. If you don’t want to be a cheater, don’t cheat. If you don’t want to be called stupid…. you can get the idea. And I wonder how it feels when someone that supposedly cares for you does the exact opposite of what you ask…. hmm…

 

GASLIGHTING: Blaming me for calling you stupid… when stupid is as stupid does.

 

 

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#ThatMomentWhen: You Realize You have a lot in Common with Aziz Ansari

It’s been 2 and a half years at my current job, and I still can’t tell if having Friday’s off is a curse or a blessing since I binged watch comedy specials all day this Friday (again… curse or blessing?).

Even though the temperature was sunny and in the high 50s, this Friday afternoon was not quite wasted since I watched Aziz Ansari comedy specials and decided that he and I share a lot of relate-able experiences and viewpoints. Basically by experiences are a comedy special…. what is my life?

 

1. Girls always go for the douche bags. Sadly, I cannot disagree with this statement,  and I will humbly raise my hand above my head about 3 inches and turn my head the other way while shading my eyes with my other hand.

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Ansari explains that there are two types of guys at the bar.

  • Type 1: The guys that only talk to each other. Who may eventually gather the courage to compliment you, but then will be either politely or rudely rejected.
  • Type 2: These are what Ansari calls the dumb dudes, who exclaim “Give me a shot of Jagermeister, drop it in a beer with a bunch of other shit. I’ll say anything to anybody!!! Excuse me excuse me, ahh I just wanted to say you look really beautiful tonight and I was hoping one day I could put my hands on your titties. Is it okay if I’m shitty to you and cheat on you whenever I want?” The men who girls eventually go home with….

Yes, Ansari might have a point here but my theory is as follows. I will actually say that as a woman, nothing gets us more sexually frustrated than hot men that only talk to each other and totally ignore you. Maybe they don’t even ignore you, maybe they’ve looked your way and basically undressed you with their gaze, and yet they STILL do not come over to talk to you, giving you ample time to get boozed up and put on your douche bag stunner goggles, and all of a sudden all the “dumb dudes” look like gentleman.

 

2. Marriage is more outrageous than it seems. Ansari begs to ask the question, how did the idea of marriage even come up, and gives quite the possible scenario that brought structure to this ritual.

Man: “You know how we have been hanging out and spending time together. I want to keep doing it till you’re dead. Put this ring on your finger so people know we have an arrangement. That’s a priest. I want you to swear to God you won’t back out of this deal. That’s a cake with two tiny dolls that look like us. EAT A SLICE. Now feed a little bit me.”

The idea of marriage is fantastic, and I’m not going to claim to be one of those girls that crave an alternate lifestyle at all. I want to be married for sure, but nonetheless, it’s a societal structure that has become a norm. Biologically, humans are meant to be with multiple partners and to even have children with multiple partners. That makes the idea of marriage even MORE strange to me.

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3. No sadder sign of the times then the increasing number of dick pics. Guys are texting pictures of their dick to women all the time. How did such a bizarre thing become such a common place. I’m just DYING for Aziz to include a bit on Tinder into his shows and if he needs any inspiration he can link back to my last Tinder Post.

4. Random roommates on Craiglist can be scary. This brought me significant worry, since in Boston, that is one of the only ways people, myself included, can find roommates now a days. Ansari’s horror story, made my Craigslist fears even more concrete.

The fact that now I have to start looking for a roommate for our lease in September makes this bit even more terrifying.

7. Being friends with your little cousin on Facebook can be horrifying. Ansari’s little cousin Harris lives in Georgia and to be perfectly honest, his comedy special made me think that one: Harris needs some friends and to stop feeding his anti-social Halo addiction, and two: that I need to think twice before following my family members on social media. My friend’s list is peppered with some cousins from Vietnam, my older cousins posting pictures with their kids, and my second cousins.

Now I’m not scared of them posting self quoting dark statuses such as “life’s dirty, you gotta play dirty to win it,” quite like Ansari, but I was petrified to see that my 11 year old cousin on Instagram had a girlfriend, or that my twin cousins that just celebrated their Sweet 16s this year just had their Junior Prom. These events don’t seem quite terrifying, but they make me feel Terrifyingly old. I can feel my eye sockets and rack sagging this very minute.

8. It’s a frustrating time to be single right now. A bunch of texting, miss communication and eventually ghosting. Ansari likens dating to being  a secretary for a shoddy organization, scheduling the dumbest shit with the flakest people ever. We’re also left trying to decipher if we are even on a date, because we go on these date-friend-hangout things. It could always be a date, but no one says that it’s a date.

 

Make sure you catch all of Aziz Ansari’s Comedy Specials such as Buried Alive, Intimate Moments for a Sensual Evening, and Dangerously Delicious on Netflix, especially if you have no life… like me.

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I Want to Ride my Bicycle Bicycle Bicycle

Who said it was ever too late to teach an old dog new tricks?

Possibly the same person who said it’s too late to teach a twentysomething how to ride a bike. What is my life?

As a child I had a bike. It was pink and had training wheels. Eventually, it had only one training wheel, but never was I able to fully let go of that training wheel, my safety blanket, the only thing keeping me from hitting pavement. This quite possibly resembles the relationship I have with coffee…. but anyways…

As item #2 on my 2014 Summer Bucket List, my roommates Ricky and Ariel decided it was about damn time that I learned a childhood skill that I had never fully developed. I decided sure, let’s take a risk on the concrete Boston sidewalks and make Commonwealth Ave my bitch.

First, Ricky taught me the ins and outs of bike safety, including wearing this dashing helmet:

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And according to them, I looked gooooood:

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Then, there was a bit of hesitation:

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That bar is WAY too close to some sensitive areas!

 

Then, I forgot to peddle:

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Thanks daddy Ricky, for holding up my ENTIRE body weight… and gym bag.

 

After a few misadventures, I GOT IT!

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Face of success:

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And some stranger’s dog decided to give me a congratulatory leg hump:

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Happy Ending. Except for the uncomfortable resulting wedgie that I had to endure at the gym afterwards. 

 

Anyways, I promise eventually I’ll do something even more cool to blog about like go on a disastrous date or rant about something else. But it’s a Monday folks, and who really wants to read that much in the beginning of the week anyways.

 

A Suggestion to the NBA: How to Punish Donald Sterling

As if Doc Rivers and the LA Clippers didn’t have enough to worry about besides trying to win an NBA Championship.

And hello to all who have either been anxiously awaiting my next post, my loyal friend followers of about 20 individuals, and perhaps some new readers from my Twittersphere (whooo 83 followers!). I’ve been looking for a reason to resurrect TwentySomethingWIML, and while so much has happened (2014 Winter Olympics, Korean Ferry sinking, the ongoing 2014 Crimean crisis, etc.) I could not ignore the fact that an old, ugly, and decrepit man (who can still manage to have both a wife AND girlfriend) was a top trending topic all week. It helped that I finally found out how to use Twitter, but that’s another story that I could probably blog about later.

PROFILE: Meet Donald Sterling b.1934

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Occupation: Owner of the Los Angeles Clippers in the NBA

Imagine seeing this lovely, leathery face on your Tinder prospects. Well his profile might say something along the lines of “I won’t broadcast that I associate with black people, even when African Americans athletes are working their asses off to earn my team and their city a national title. I won’t even broadcast it even though my girlfriend is half African American. Even when Doc Rivers, one of the most recognized and respected coaches in the league works for my franchise.”

My Thoughts: I’m moved to both anger and sadness. Anger for the obvious reasons; I strongly disapprove of bigotry and racism on any level, and sadness for the Clippers who publicly showed at Game 4 Sunday against the Golden State Warriors that they denounce Sterling’s ugly comments. LA, a team of talented players from a variety of backgrounds, is now faced with suspended sponsorships, terminated sponsorships, and a major distraction during the most important time of the season.

With an NBA investigation in place, we can only hope that the NBA and commissioner Adam Silver can find a way to get rid of this racist and ugly bigot.

But, I decided to compile a list of punishments that I would recommend:

1. Cover the floor of Staples Center with the sharpest of Lego pieces. Make him do suicides barefoot.

2. Give him perpetual papercuts in the wrinkly, old webbings between his fingers.

3. Make him take a selfie with every African American NBA player.

4. Force him to only take the coldest of showers for the rest of his life.

5. Make him walk on cobblestone in heels for hours.

6. Hit him in the funny bone, over and over again.

7. Lock him in with the Hippos at the Los Angeles Zoo. I mean he is starting to look like one.

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8. While at the Zoo, he can become the Zoo pooper scooper. Make him sleep in it.

9. Twilight movies on repeat.

10. Baseball pitches to the groin, thrown by African American baseball pitchers.

11.  Forced licking of all flag poles in below freezing climates.

12. Continuously blow dust and sand into his eyes over and over again.

13. Forced self-inflicted toe stubbing.

14. Force him to stare into the sun for hours at a time.

15. Make him sit on hot leather car seats without pants. After an hour make him stand up and experience the awful pain of the seat peeling from your bare legs. Repeat.

 

Feel Free to comment and add to this list. Maybe Adam Silver will get some ideas!

 

 

 

Realizing that a bad hangover has NOTHING on food poisoning

WARNING: the following content may be extremely graphic, especially if you’re one of those guys that don’t believe that humans of the female variety poop. I mean they just don’t. We are perfectly beautiful, gorgeous, and ethereal creatures that don’t even emit stinky vapors let alone excrement. Keep thinking that and stop reading.

For the women, the realists, and the biologists who insist that all living organisms need to emit their waste in order to survive, you can continue to read this post because this weekend I experienced the WORST curse on my digestive system that I have EVER experienced in my twentysomething years.

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Those familiar with the college life are probably also familiar with the bad hangover. Feeling dehydrated, nauseous, and weak may have been an every Sunday occurrence after a weekend of cheap Barton shots and boxed Franzia. I’ve had my share and boy do I know what a bad hangover feels like. Forgetting to eat dinner and stay hydrated with water on the weekends before downing a few whiskey gingers have become habitual. So has waking up the next morning, refusing to get out of bed, and claiming that “I am NEVER going to drink AGAIN”. I usually feel and look like I’ve been hit by a bus.

However, this weekend, I probably looked like that same bus reversed back over me and hit me again. After a now regretful egg salad sandwich, I experienced food poisoning over which I would take a bad hangover any day of the week. Literally, my bowels are turning just talking about it, but I need to get this in writing so that when I experience my next bad and inevitable hangover, I can read this and thank my lucky stomach that I don’t have food poisoning.

Sweet Jesus it was absolutely God awful.

After eating the egg salad at about 3:30pm on Satuday, I was struck with calm, maybe feeling a bit bloated, but nothing out of the ordinary. Twelve hours later, I was puking on a sidewalk, but I chalked it up to the bumpy Boston cab rides that trigger my motion sickness. Confident that I had absolutely NOTHING in my system, I went to bed just feeling nauseous.

I wake up at 8am with an intense pain that felt like I was being impaled with a red hot poker. My eyes are literally watering from the pain and I run to the bathroom to puke. Realizing I don’t need to puke and probably have a case of the DADS (Day After Drinking Shits) I decide to poop. Talk about opening Pandora’s box. And I thought I had nothing in me.

I try going back to bed, but trips to the bathroom kept me awake until around 11am when I decide to give up. I get dressed, brush my teeth and as soon as the toothpaste hits my tongue I vomit again.

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“Must be a hangover” I tell myself, until I’m sitting in the living room waiting to go into work and remembering that my roommate who also ate the egg salad was complaining about a stomach ache. Well I guess I better call in today, because if it’s food poisoning my hour commute might end exorcist style. I have experienced the after morning sickness of a hangover, however, the best part about puking from alcohol is feeling the weight of nausea being lifted after you pull the trigger. With food poisoning, that relief never comes and you’re subject to stomach cramp after stomach cramp that never ends no matter how much you pray and promise that you’ll be a better person if only this nasty experience would just end.

There is nothing more humiliating than having to shit and puke at the same time, and I feel SO MUCH SYMPATHY for those that have ever experienced suck an AWFUL trial.

With my roommates Goggling my symptoms and what I should be eating, it’s decided that I have food poisoning and I should go grab some Gatorade for the electrolytes that my body is so violently getting rid of. I decide to go to the convenient store right across the street for some Powerade Zero and after being gone no longer than 5 mins, I come back out of breath and practically stumbling for my composure. I’m a ridiculous mess. I take a few sips, take a Tums for my stomach acid, and immediately puke it up. Great.

By the end of the night, my throat is dry, I am starving, and my ass literally hurts.  I’ll never again complain about being hungover, ever.

NYE with Beer and Feminism and Twenty Something What is My Life

I’ve been dreaming of this moment: a co-post with my fellow Binghamton drunkie A.Merc at Beer and Feminism.

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EXPECTATIONS VERSUS REALITY

My girl T.Ko over at Twenty Something What Is My Life is not only my favorite gorgeous lotus flower, but she’s also a seasoned Binghamton drinker which means the two of us know how to get drunk in sub-zero temperatures.

So, naturally, we would spend NYE together, and naturally we would go to some bougy Manhattan catering hall (Gotham Lounge) and naturally we would blog about it.

T.Ko and I, while obviously soulmates (tonight T.Ko will be an ethereal Asian angel wearing all white with soft gorgeous curls while I will be in a devilish black sequined pantsuit rocking a mohawk), have different expectations for what will go down on the final night of 2013.

Here are our own expectations, with the other’s dose of reality (i.e. T.Ko has already shot down my desire to find and bone a New York Ranger).

A.Merc’s Expectation: I will find and make-out with at least two boys and one girl throughout the night. They all will be at least eights on a scale of one to panty dropping.

T.Ko‘s Reality: A.Merc is clearly underestimating herself, I mean the girl is going out in a fucking pantsuit and mohawk. You’re welcome for finding that in the upturned racks at Urban Outfitters BTW. At least two boys in the first hour and half and another two after midnight. One girl is playing it safe. What she doesn’t realize is that drunk girls (especially drunk girls on New Years Eve) are all just playing a big game of monkey see monkey do—one girl sees her friend making out with a fellow vagina and the next thing you know it’s a giant tonsil hockey orgy.

T.Ko’s Expectation: While unsuccessful in the year 2013, T.Ko will ring in 2014 by finding the perfect balance of slightly tipsy and destroyingly hammered. She’s learned from her 2013 experiences, where a night out drinking will either turn into mothering one of her three roommates into bed at 2 a.m. or throwing up on the side of the street at 3:30 a.m and passing out on the couch while the room is spinning.

A.Merc’s Reality: T.Ko will ring in 2014 rip-roaringly drunk, partially because she will not have yet discovered her alcoholic sweet spot and partially because I will be ramming drinks down her throat the entire night to make the insane amount of money we are spending sting a smidge less. Hopefully she will be my puking partner in crime and we can decorate the LIRR car with our multi-colored vomit.

A.Merc’s Expectation:I will spend the entire night in my fantastic shoes, dancing like Britney Spears and not feeling any pain in my toes whatsoever. I will not take my shoes off.

T.Ko’s Reality: T.Ko is surprised that after all her time in Binghamton she has never heard a Long Island girl have a raging bitch fest over something only mildly dramatic like hurt toes. Tonight that’s gonna change. It will all start an hour into dancing at Gotham, where Alyssa cannot fight the temptation to twerk, work, and dance her pierced tits off. All that dancing will pay a heavy price, not only on her feet, but on my ears and patience. I will mutter death threats under my breath the entire night.

T.Ko’s Expectation: I guarantee I will meet one guy tonight that will consider me the ideal woman, want to wife me up, and spend the entire night following me around. That’s not me being cocky (“Or is it?”—A.Merc), I tend to not give off the suck my face vibe, but actually manage to hold intelligent and captivating conversations. No matter how hard I try not to be, I always end up being the girl you want to take home to mom and dad, whether Asians are your thing or not.

A.Merc’s Reality: T.KO is underestimating the power of the Asian persuasion. While I will be making a fool of myself in some darkened corner, T.Ko will most likely be getting proposed to just as the ball drops, in a touching act of love at first sight from some poor soul who mistakes her kindness as an act of love. BTW I want to be maid of honor at the wedding.