The Cruddy Award

The Tournament of Exes

Monday, April 18, 2005

ROUND ONE: BATTLE OF THE QUOTEY BROADS

D's story: The worst part of this story is that I stayed with this gigantic gaping asshole for nearly three years...

We met at my girlfriend's vintage clothing store in New Orleans, where I lived at the time. He had just rented the studio apartment behind her shop and he had a certain disheveled, Paul Rudd-esque charm. He was unemployed, so I finagled him a job at my friend's bar. After a few months of flirting, etc. I fucked him, and next thing I knew, he had moved in to my house. Somehow the arrangement involved me paying all the bills and him occasionally “borrowing” my ATM card to “put gas in my car”. I worked days at a respectable office job, he bartended at night and would wake me up at 4 AM, when his shift was over so “I could pick him up because the bus sucks.”

Once, he took my ATM card because he wanted to go have an after work beer and I was too tired (it was, after all, 4 AM) and next thing I knew he had emptied my checking account buying drinks for everyone and playing video poker. I had to borrow money from my boss to pay my rent on time that month.

Then he got drunk, totaled my car by hitting four, yes FOUR, parked cars, and ran off, leaving the keys in the ignition. I was woken at 4 AM by two cops at my door. Then, a few months later, he totaled my replacement car by hitting a cab at a stop sign in the French Quarter. He made it a hit and run and drove the car to my house, parking it around the corner. When I woke up and went to go to work, I found the front end all bashed in. He tried to tell me someone must have hit it overnight while it was parked. It wasn't until the cabby's insurance adjuster came to my door with witness statements that I found out what really he happened.

After each of these incidents, somehow, I was moronic enough to forgive him. I still am in shock that I was that stupid. The final straw came on my birthday. He had switched to day shift so that we could go out to dinner (I was paying of course) to celebrate my birthday. He never showed up and no matter how many times I called his cell (that I had given him and was paying for), he didn't answer it. I spent the whole night calling hospitals and the police. Finally, the next morning at 10 AM, he finally answered his cell to tell me that...

A) my incessant calling was annoying him
B) he had gotten drunk after work and fucked some cocktail waitress
C) he'd be home later and we could celebrate my birthday then

That was the straw. I had the locks changed within two hours and had all his crap, most of which I had bought him, on the curb in garbage bags shortly thereafter. He actually showed up a few hours later and tried to make up with me.

Do I win? By the way, I can promise you that NOT A SINGLE thing in this story is exaggerated. I can, and will, verify each aspect of this story if you need me to. I even still have all the insurance claim paperwork.

“I never know what I think about something until I read what I've written on it.” -William Faulkner


K's story: At 19, I split up with a long-time boyfriend and found solace in a 31 year old that I was in a show with. I told him from word “go” that he was a rebound. One week into our relationship he told me he loved me. Two weeks into our relationship he began sabotaging condoms. A month or so later I find out I'm pregnant and he's ecstatic. “Great!” he says, “Now I can be a daddy and we can start a family!” I break up with him, and begins calling me 50+ times a day, leaving dozens of schizophrenic messages. I finally need to take out two restraining orders-one for the phone calls and one for the crayon drawings of him snuggling my uterus he would tape to my front door. I wound up giving our son up for adoption, but he spent months attempting to get sole custody of my unborn (he was found unfit after getting caught tying up one of his deaf, blind, mute, autistic students at the State School for the Blind).

Recently I ran into him (five years later) and attempted to smooth things over-since we both work in the same profession in a small city. He asked if he knew me, and when I said we'd had a kid together five years back he told me it didn't ring a bell.

“And what is it to work with love? It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit, and to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching.” -Kahlil Gibran, “The Prophet”


Old Hag says: I could not, upon reading these sad tales, but reflect that a simple change of exes here would have done the trick. (Can't you just picture #2 being glad that rebound man is happy to run around fucking cocktail waitresses, while #1 enjoyed all the sketches tie-me-up-tie-me down made of the products bought for his pleasure?) I could also not but reflect that, while #1 was certainly terrifyingly accepting, #2 was a little mean. (Given such latitude, I might well crash several cars, and, denied my baby, I might also find that tying up a deaf, blind, mute, autistic student was the only way to go.) Still, my job here is not to judge the defendants but the exes themselves. Crashing cars, fucking cocktail waitresses. Unacceptable. Forgetting you had a baby with someone-equally poor conduct. (We're going to leave out the tying up the student, because, after all, he did not tie up THE GIRLFRIEND.) Still. CRAYON DRAWINGS. Worst ex EVER!

And #2 proceeds to the finals.

WINNER: The girl with the uterus. Oh, wait. The second one.

Old Hag once purchased two pairs of J. Crew pants for a penniless gentleman days after he had told her to, quote unquote, shut up. The next day, he broke up with her, then asked if he could keep the pants. She let him.

3 Comments:

At 1:43 PM, Blogger Unknown said...

This comment is for New Orleans Woman:

Have you seen Hitchcock's STRANGERS ON A TRAIN? A conversation between strangers about taking care of (murdering) each other's problem? There is nothing to connect us, you with your ex, me with mine... well, except for this IP trail and no anonymous commenting.

I'm not suggesting murder. That would be too nerve-wracking and ultimately not satisfying. And illegal.

What is NOT illegal is to meet each other's ex, "fall in love," and fuck them over so thoroughly they might kill themselves.

Now THAT would be satisfying.

Think about it.

[This comment posted for entertainment purposes only. Any real life incident or accident or happenstance is purely coincidental, etc., etc.]

 
At 2:02 PM, Blogger Daniella said...

yeah, but mine is so far gone from my life I wouldn't even know how to find him even if I had any inclination to do so. Actually, he has been relegated to an amusing anecdote.

 
At 3:35 PM, Blogger red.hot.mamma! said...

so, when are we going to get some updates? more rounds? a winner?

 

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