The Easter Bunny

I recently made the error of relegating my eggs to solitary confinement in someone’s basket of hypocrisy, insecurity, and self-absorption.  Should I tell you how I really feel?  Ok.  So, I had posted a lovely, poetic piece about my initial encounters with Mr. Redcoat.  As is the case with many first encounters, Mr. Redcoat sent his representative, or the self he likes to believe he is as opposed to his actual self.  Notably, I was not even impressed with the representative initially.  He was a cocky douche with seemingly little realistic basis for being so, and it was readily apparent that was merely a mask for his insecurity.  How do I know?  Well, I got to know him a bit and like when you lift up a log, what is unearthed is a bunch of nasty maggot-like critters.  More superficially, his insecurity was highlighted in our initial encounter.  He noticed me as soon as I walked into the bar where we met.  I know this because A.) he told his friend who told my friend and B.) he told me directly.  However, he did not approach me because he said I looked like a stuck up poodle with bitch written on my forehead.  Well, it’s no secret that people, particularly men, distort reality to sustain their own ego.  So, basically, rather than face potential rejection by approaching me, he concluded based on my appearance alone that I must be a bitch unworthy of approach.  I wrote a blog post about this behavior almost five years ago.  I used the acronym BITCHES to describe those exhibiting it.  Here’s the excerpt:


Theory Three:  The third category of HATERs includes Boys Insecure That Chicks Hate ‘Em Sexually (“BITCHES” for short).  To compensate for their own insecurities, BITCHES attempt to depict and perceive female specimens as evil and/or worthless monsters.

For example, if one of these BITCHES is perusing a dating website, and he sees that a female specimen is attractive, intelligent, ambitious, etc., and then he reads her profile only to find out that he does not fit her dating criteria, his brain converts that perceived rejection into loathing for that female specimen.  In order to rationalize that loathing, his brain must believe that she is a monster.  To buttress that belief, he writes her a HATERific message with the subconscious hope that she will 1.) ignore his message or 2.) write back in a defensive manner.  Either of these two reactions on the female specimen’s part will support the BITCHES desired disdain for her.  If she ignores him, she’s perceived as too stuck up to take the time out to respond.  If she responds defensively she’s perceived as too aggressive and combative.

Suggestion:  The optimal response to BITCHES is a short and sweet one.  This approach throws a wrench in the HATER’s psyche.  The foundation upon which he has villainzed the female specimen has been cracked because not only did she respond, but she did so in a positive manner. 


Shitty happenstance (i.e., Mr. Redcoat’s cheating friend soliciting my friend) drew Mr. Redcoat and me into conversation by default.  After we had talked for a while, he asked for my number.  I said no.  A little bit later, he asked again.  I said no.  Finally, the third time he asked, I dropped the digits.  Mistake one.  Clearly, my gut was not in sync with this specimen.  I should have stuck to my guns and not allowed for the opportunity to further interact with him.  The motivating factors for me finally agreeing were twofold: 1.) Goose and 2.) he shared the ethnic and national background of Mr. Hong Kong, my favorite specimen in the illustrious history of specimens.  Basically, I was inebriated and interested in a specimen because he was comparable on a very superficial level to one I had really liked previously — a cheap knockoff, if you will.  The mind is sometimes an asshole.  It categorizes information in an attempt to streamline and simplify the thought process, but sometimes the categorization is too rudimentary and leads us to make dumb decisions.  In other words, my mind associated emotional satisfaction with the British accent and ethnic background of Mr. Hong Kong and simply because Mr. Redcoat shared these shallow traits, I proceeded with him despite his outward doucheness.


That was a Saturday night.  We then reconvened for lunch the following Wednesday.  And, then, we met once more that Friday briefly because he was flying out to NC for the holidays.  Prior to our Friday tryst, as a result of my oversharing tendencies and Mr. Redcoat’s visit to my blog, I divulged that after our lunch meeting, I had met up with Ken Doll.  Not surprisingly, because Mr. Redcoat fancied me at the time and he was going out of state, he floated the idea of locking me down.  No labels – merely an agreement to focus on one another to the exclusion of others.  Note to self and readers: DO NOT EVER AGREE TO THIS ARRANGEMENT.  It is the epitome of bullshit.  If a person does not deem you desirable or familiar enough to be a significant other, then you should not permit a moratorium on your extracurricular specimen slaying.  My mind must have been under siege by dumbasses that week because I agreed to this epically premature nonsense.  Mistake two.  Frankly, I like the concept of focusing on one person because I feel as though it makes the interactions more genuine.  However, the problem is that most people are incapable or unwilling to keep it 100.  At best, they keep it 74.  And when there is an imbalance in the keeping it real ratio, frustration inevitably abounds.


That was exactly the case with Mr. Redcoat.  It was clear that the impetus behind his exclusivity request was his perception of threat or competition as manifested by the beautiful human form I’ve coined Ken Doll.  Indeed, he perceived my sharing of the information as “bragging.”  Let me interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you another lesson on the differences between males and females.  Most females do not market themselves by gloating about the desirability or availability of dick in their lives.  Why?  Well, because free dick (i.e., dick obtainable at no or extremely minimal effort by a female) is abundant.  You know when you go into a city and there are a gazillion of those guys in your face trying to get you to buy those city tour bus tickets?  Females are like pedestrians in this analogy and males are those annoying guys in your face, except instead of attempting to peddle bus tour rides, they’re peddling penis.  Constantly.  No sooner do we make it past one peddler when the next is already lined up waiting to distribute their unappealing dick to us.  Constant. Cock. Barrage. Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.  So what’s the point?  The point is, no one brags about having those tour bus tickets guys approach them.  Likewise, there’s no need for a female to brag about specimens.  I simply factually relayed information to Mr. Redcoat and he repackaged it in his ego-driven brain as bragging because he felt threatened.


Interestingly, though, Mr. Hypocrite aka Redcoat, had had a tryst the night before with a specimen of his own.  His description of this specimen portrayed a picture of a jump off (aka a casual specimen).  Naturally, when he proposed his Easter Bunny “all eggs in” bs, I questioned the presence of that female in his life.  He responded with a simple, “She’s gone.”  I accepted that at face value.  Mistake three.  Moreover, he adamantly believed that our conduct and culpability in our specimen relations differed because during the 24 hour time difference, our intervening lunch date somehow made me more of a bad actor.  Sorry, bro, it was lunch, not a session where you slyly shackled me to you with your charm and wit.


Right after that Friday meeting, he headed to the airport and left the “trie state” area.  A couple days later, his mom fell ill in England.  He had to fly back to NY to get his passport and then to England.  Unfortunately, his mother passed away before he arrived in England.  Now this is probably where I made the most critical error in this tale.  I decided to be a compassionate, caring human being.  Mistake four.  I had only known this specimen for a week.  There is plenty of rubbish domestically, no need to seek it or follow it abroad and across different time zones.  I should have politely wished him condolences and bowed out rather than involving myself in international interactions.  That was the recommendation of my friends that were aware of the situation and, even Mr. Redcoat himself recognized that most people would have run for the hills in this scenario.  Instead of taking the road most traveled, I decided to take the rocky road to a dead end with no GPS, or worse with a GPS that I knew was misleading me.  I made myself available to talk and video chat when he wanted despite the time difference and to console him as best I could.  I thought I was being a decent human being; instead, I was being an idiot and an emotional crutch/distraction.  I even went as far as to have a picture of him and his mom that he had texted me printed on to a panel that he could place on his desk.


My internal douche alert system is fairly strong; I just need to take its alerts more seriously.  While he was still abroad, an alert in the gut went off.  I started piecing together bits of our conversations and realized that his account of the “jump off” girl didn’t make sense.  I conducted some due diligence and concluded that this was no jump off at all.  This was his girlfriend.  I messaged him, “I’m over this situation.”  When he awoke, he questioned the seemingly sudden withdrawal.  I told him it wasn’t the time to discuss it because his mom’s funeral was the next day.  His curiosity got the better of him, though.  I indulged.  Mistake five.  At this point, I should have blocked him.  Who cares what he had to say?  I now had clear evidence that I was dealing with a bullshit person.


Nevertheless, I answered his call and told him of my findings.  He admitted to downplaying the status of this girl supposedly in an effort not to scare me off and said that they broke up a few months prior and have been just casually seeing one another, but that he told her he met someone else and wanted to discontinue contact with her.  I was hard pressed to believe the latter part.  Additionally, I learned that he had been talking to her while he was in England despite his representation that she was “gone” before he left the country and despite his supposed explicit conversation with her about me.  He said she called and he had to answer because he didn’t know what it was about.  Really?  I often wonder whether these guys actually believe the words dispersed from their lying mouths are even remotely believable or whether they think they’re talking to a cretin.  Clearly, she wasn’t calling to discuss that state of affairs in the Middle East.  In any event, he told her of his loss and then the communication continued between them on the supposed basis that she was being supportive in light of the events.  He refused to acknowledge that he lied and, instead, was only willing to admit that he omitted information.


At that point, I mentally checked out of this “relationship.”  Once someone loses credibility in my book, it is very difficult for me to respect their character and trust them.  Where I erred, though, was in proceeding with him at all.  There was no reason, or even ability, to move forward from there.  I rationalized, “Well, I’ll just see him once more when he gets back to see if the chemistry is there.”  Mistake six.


Now, this is where I started to make up for mistake three; I began to withdraw my eggs from his basket of bullshit.  I entertained a couple dates and stopped talking about Mr. Redcoat to all but two of my friends because his relevance had faded.  My mom questioned why I was bothering at all because her assessment based on my conversations with her about him was that he didn’t meet any of the criteria I look for in a guy.  When your friends and family arrive at such conclusions based on your own portrayal of someone, take heed.


Once he returned to the US, it was beyond obvious that the ethereal magic between us had been either ephemeral or purely a product of fabrication.  I didn’t feel the excitement to see him that I had once thought I would feel while he was away.  In fact, I dreaded it.  The gut alarm kept sounding and I was having increasing difficultly silencing it.  One of my friends suggested I was afraid that it was heading toward a committed relationship.  I explained to him that that was not the case; I just had a strong feeling this was not right.

I assumed Mr. Redcoat felt the same distance because our communication dwindled noticeably.  I once again attempted to end things based on the change in communication pattern – which is ALWAYS a red flag that should not be ignored.  Somehow, I allowed myself to be talked out of it with his weightless statements, “I really like you” and “I’ve been busy at work.”  All of that is nonsense.  Liking me is of no import if the person doesn’t express it in a productive way.  And, there are few jobs that prevent a person from sending a text in a 24 hour period.  If you’re not on the front lines of battle, flying a plane, or performing a very long, state of the art surgery, you have the luxury of sending a text and the lack of such communication is indicative of prioritization defects, not inability.  I was further peeved by his constant craving for attention at his beck and call.  If he didn’t get attention when he wanted it, he was annoyed.  Yet when he received attention when he wasn’t necessarily in need of it, he conveniently ignored it.  I explained to him that I am not a mind reader, nor does the universe (or even my universe) revolve around him.  That explanation fell on ears deafened by narcissism.


The next day, I saw him.  This was go big or go bust.  And…bust it was.  It wasn’t a Cinderella-esque glass slipper moment.  There were no butterflies or even fruit flies fluttering in my stomach like I would have expected two weeks prior.  But, as the saying goes, hope springs eternal.  I guess I was hoping that I would warm up to him and feel the magic I had once conjured up with my fantastic imagination.  This isn’t Disney World, though; it’s real life.  A few hours into this waste of time session, we had a blowout argument.  It wasn’t prompted by a major catalyst.  It was just another piece of information consistent with the rest of his hypocrisy.  It was merely more of the same – him actively communicating with his hos, while he maintained the expectation that my focus be solely on him.  My temper flared at the inequitable standard.  For no reason other than that we’re both obviously gluttons for pain, we continued that hangout session.


The following week, things between us really fizzled out.  I had almost no eggs left in the bullshit basket.  My “specimescapades” were back in full swing, but there was still minimal contact with Mr. Redcoat.  One day, I sent him a selfie and he responded by saying he can’t wait to see me again.  I was surprised because I didn’t anticipate another in person interaction with him.  I asked when that was happening and we made loose plans for the weekend.  The next day, he sent me some snapchats that I didn’t deem worthy of response (because they were stupid – e.g., one was of a pizza he had).  So basically, not only was I now not initiating contact, but I was doing the bare minimum in terms of response.  The following day, which was a day before we were supposed to see one another, he texted me, “morning.”  By the way, it always annoyed me that he said “morning” and “night” without a positive adjective.  Like, I know it’s morning or night.  I don’t need you to announce it.  Either wish me a good one, or shut the fuck up. Anyway, I responded, “good morning,” like a normal human being.


Then silence all day until he sent me another of his stupid Snapchats.  This time, it was a picture of him in a doctor’s office.  I texted him, “What’s wrong?”  He said it was just a routine thing and then noted that he had texted me earlier, but the text had failed.  For about five seconds, we engaged in trivial nonsense texting and then I got on the phone with a friend.  While on the phone, Mr. Redcoat, seemingly out of the clear blue sky in the context of the dumb conversation we were having, said he wasn’t “feeling this anymore.”  I query whether the straw that broke the Redcoat’s back was my newly enacted lack of attentiveness and responsiveness to his attention seeking efforts.

Admittedly, his text irked me a bit, likely because rejection stings regardless of the source.  Though I had no eggs left in the basket at that point, I felt as though he had strung me along.  If he wasn’t “feeling it anymore,” then why did he send me pointless Snapchats about his dull day to day life?  Is he that self-absorbed that he actually believed I may give any semblance of a fuck??  I asked what prompted it and why he was contacting me at all given “his decision.”  Of course the responses were meaningless drivel like (paraphrased), “I just decided today” and “I am letting you know because I didn’t want to string you along.”  I label it drivel because those statements were intended to do nothing more than bolster his own self image.  He chose to believe it was unilaterally his decision to end the situation despite my three prior attempts and obvious mental checkout.  He also chose to believe he was an upstanding citizen for announcing his departure via text in the middle of a small talk conversation that HE initiated.  What a gentleman and a scholar…


All in all, my attention was wasted on an undeserving individual for an unnecessarily prolonged period of time.  The fact that I was complicit in this venture irritates me.  The moral of the story is, if a person strikes you as unworthy of your time, trust your gut, particularly when your inner circle tells you all along that you’re barking up a hollow tree.  Finally, do not prematurely put all of your eggs in one basket.  Easter egg hunts are far more engaging.  Make those motherfuckers hunt for your eggs.



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