Done

On Friday, I attended a “white party” that one of my colleagues threw. Word of it has been going around for the past 2 months or so, and thus there was a pretty large turn-out. I’d actually been kind of looking forward to it as I’d never been to a white party before, and I haven’t gotten out that much lately. I knew that I was bound to cross paths with some of my exes though, Mr. Smooth being the main one in mind. I knew he’d be there.

I have to say, I looked good. I wore some short white shorts, a white tank top, and these 3-inch Calvin Klein open-toed heels I’ve had for months now and haven’t had a chance to wear. I put my hair into a low side ponytail, and my makeup was pretty. I looked good, but most importantly, I felt good.

I didn’t see anyone I know when I first got there, so I grabbed a drink and sat down by my lonesome to sip on it. More people start to file in, but no one I really know like that. My homie Matt texts me, so I busy myself with responding to him. I’m totally engrossed in my phone when I hear someone greet me. I look up, and it’s Pretty Ricky. I speak back. I’m surprised to see him there because I thought he had to work. He looks good, like usual. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look bad. He goes on about his business – getting food and greeting people – and then eventually seats himself on a couch.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting on a hard stone bench that starts to become uncomfortable. I wanna go sit on a couch, but not with people I don’t know. So I go over to Pretty Ricky’s and ask if I can sit next to him. He says yes. I sit there quietly for a few moments, still drinking. I think I might’ve been on my second vodka and cran at this point. I don’t want him to think I came over there to be in his face, because I definitely didn’t. But on the other hand, I’d like to think that we can carry on a friendly conversation like normal people sitting right next to each other that know each other, so I make some small talk with him.

First and foremost, I ask him what’s going on with his hair. He usually keeps it low cut, but now he has these fruity looking curls on the top of his head. He said he’s going to cut it soon. We talk a little about work and random stuff, nothing major. He decides he wants to get a bottle, so he goes to the bar. He took his little camera bag he had with him, so I figured he wasn’t going to come back.

A few of my coworkers/friends come in at this point, so now I have other people to chill with anyway. To my surprise, he does come back a few minutes later with a bottle of Patron. He shares with me. All in all, I probably had about the equivalent of a shot and a half in my cup. I sipped on it for a good while instead of taking it all down at once. One of my coworkers bought a bottle of Moscato wine, which I’ve been wanting to try since I’ve heard several people raving about it. I drank the Patron and used the Moscato as a chaser. I really don’t like tequila, but it gets you nice pretty quick. I can tolerate Patron more so than any other kind.

Pretty Ricky didn’t stay around for long, but that’s cool. I saw him around a few more times, but we never really talked again or anything. At least he gave me some liquor; I’m satisfied with that.

One of the subsequent times I did see him, he was talking to Mr. Smooth. Oooooooooooh great, I thought to myself. I wasn’t going to speak at first, but as usual, I really started feeling the alcohol and it suddenly didn’t seem like that bad of an idea.

So I eventually went up to him and spoke. I don’t really know what I said. He spoke back, then introduced me to what I presume is some whore of his. It definitely wasn’t his wife. “This is Marie.” Okay? Kind of a jab in the gut…him flaunting one his skanks in my face. Shortly after that they both walked off elsewhere. Whatever.

Then there was Curly, who I wondered upon talking to Pretty Ricky. I spoke, and he spoke, but I can’t remember what I said…nothing important. He was acting all brand new earlier this week. Someone tagged a picture of him at his 20-year high school reunion hugged up with some chick, who I presume is one of his classmates. Since I hadn’t talked to him in a while, I texted him and told him (jokingly) not to be hugged up on other women because it makes me jealous. He says that’s his high school sweetheart and then he gets into how she doesn’t stress him, but apparently I do. I told him he’s just mad because I don’t let him toy around with me like I’m a little rag doll. Despite the fact that he’s a dick, I’m not really mad at him or anything. I was never too into him, so it’s not a big deal. I spoke at the party and kept it moving. I did try texting him a little bit yesterday, but he never answered. Oh well.

I spent the rest of the night walking around in a drunken haze. I talked to a lot of people (I’m really friendly only when I’m drunk), and even danced. I had fun.

Until I saw Mr. Smooth standing on the outskirts of the dance floor with “Marie,” that is. I don’t know why, but I tried talking to him again. This time he waved me off. I pressed on and asked him if he still wanted a kitten (he’d wanted a kitten months ago and I was in the process of trying to get him one when we fell out). He said no. He then totally ignored me and went on with being in “Marie’s” face. They were all hugged up and dancing and I’m really surprised he’d be that overt with one of his sidepieces given that he’s married and a lot of people from work know his wife. I actually find it kind of tacky.

Well, that did it for me. For one, that “Marie” bitch is not hot. I barely recall what she looked like, but she wasn’t anything show-stopping. So I was a little heated that he’s trying to throw her ass in my face like she was. PLEASE. Secondly, now he’s just being mean. I may have been tipsy, but I was cordial. I expect the same in return, not to be treated like I’m just a piece of trash. That’s not gonna go over so well.

So…I laid into his ass via a series of ignorant texts after I left. I’d reached my breaking point. I went off on a vulgar tirade that included calling him ugly, telling him he’s a piece of shit, and even telling him I hope he dies.

 I settled into an alcohol-tinged slumber shortly thereafter.
When I woke up yesterday morning, I found that he’d replied about an hour after my rant. He told me that if I say anything to him again, he’ll write me up.
LOL! Oh, is that so? You’re a superior who’s going to try to discipline a subordinate (that you had an AFFAIR with, by the way) for talking trash to you OUTSIDE of work (regarding your previous AFFAIR). Right.

So…called his bluff on that bullshit by sending another series of texts during which I welcomed him to go ahead and try to write someone up that he’s had a sexual relationship with, and we’ll see how it works out for him. I told him that he’s a piss poor excuse for a man, “Marie” is NOT hot, and that I hate him. I advised him that this is what happens sometimes when you HURT people, and if he’d stop fucking around on his wife, maybe he wouldn’t have these problems.

I did take back what I said about hoping he dies though. I admitted that that was overboard and I shouldn’t have said it.

I probably should’ve stopped there, but I didn’t. Later in the morning, I found myself still harboring ill feelings about the situation, so I vented to him some more. I told him that I STILL can’t believe he had the nerve to try and diss me in front of his skank and flaunt her like she was some type of upgrade. FAIL. I went on to say that if he wants to write me up, I’ll have no problem putting OUR business out to everybody since I’m not the one that’s married.

I’m really over the top with stuff sometimes, I know. I need to learn to just leave things be.

Be that as it may, Mr. Smooth no longer exists to me. Seriously. What a dick. I wish I’d never met him. I can safely say at this point that we will probably never speak again. Unless I’m forced to cross paths with him or talk to him at work for whatever reason, I’m going to try and forget I ever knew him.

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