A Summary of July:
Derby, endurance, sweating, more sweating, sweating so much that my entire ponytail was soaking wet (swonytail), bunionettes, ice packs tied to my feet, camping, being tricked into a hike and not realizing I'd been tricked until it was too late, eating like fifty s'mores in one night, making derby shirts, trying to figure out how to power wash the bed of a pickup truck without getting sprayed with poopy smelling water, realizing that there is no way to power wash the bed of a pickup truck without getting sprayed by poopy smelling water, my boobs turned three, and what else...I really feel like I'm forgetting something here....oh yeah, and I got stood up.
Are you as shocked as I am? Because I had no idea bunionettes were a real thing either! Who knew! To clarify, bunion is on the inside of the foot, below the big toe; and a bunionette (much cuter) is on the outside of the foot, below the pinky toe. It might sound cuter, but trust me, my feet are a hot mess to look at. Hence the ice packs tied to my feet.
Enough about my bunionettes - I know what you're dying to hear about. I didn't even want to post about getting stood up because I felt so humiliated at first - but now that some time has passed, I'm over being humiliated and I'm just pissed, so my blog gets to benefit from that. And as a disclaimer: I am not writing about this to gain sympathy or pity or a bunch of comments about what a douche the guy is. Even though he is. I'm writing about it because I've learned that if I can't see the humor in a situation, I usually don't learn anything from it. And now I get to pass on those pearls of wisdom.
So this is my story about The Time I Got Stood Up. First of all, I don't think I even know anyone in real life who has actually been stood up. Because, who does that? Second of all, it's not like I was set up on a blind date, I went to meet him at a restaurant, I was sitting there with a red rose on the table, and he took one look at me and bailed without even saying hello. It wasn't like that at all. This was a guy I had been set up with, we spent the afternoon boating with two of our friends, then after boating he asked if we wanted to go get dinner and play cards. We all decided to go home and get cleaned up, then meet up again in about an hour at my place.
So I go home and shower and get ready. I even blow dried my hair. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. After almost two hours of waiting, I texted the guy and told him I was ready whenever he was. No response. Another hour goes by, I texted him again, asking for an ETA. No response. After another thirty minutes, I called. No answer.
He didn't even have the decency to bail on me in private - my friend was waiting on us, so I had to keep texting her and telling her that I still hadn't heard from him. Basically, we spent an afternoon together, he asked to continue hanging out, he put it out there, and then he just disappeared. I don't get it.
Here's what sucks - if he didn't want to hang out with me again, he could've just called it a day after boating, and it would've been fine. But to make further plans with me and then not show up? Why even extend the invitation? Oh, and it's been over a week, and I still haven't heard a peep from him. And before you go giving him the benefit of the doubt - no, he didn't get arrested or hospitalized. Because I checked.
As far as I'm concerned, the only acceptable excuse for standing me up is if you're dead. Believe me, I went through all the possible scenarios - maybe he fell asleep? Maybe his phone died? Maybe his car wouldn't start? If something like that happened, you'd think he'd have the courtesy to text me the next day and explain, or something. But no, this guy has just bailed, no explanation or apology. End of story.
Except that might not be the end of the story, because if I ever see that guy again, I'm going to get so ghetto on him, he's going to wish death was his excuse for standing me up. I am so not above bobbing my head, raising my voice, and shaking my finger in his face. My wrath supercedes all social graces.
So I spent a few days moping and feeling sorry for myself, feeling like I must be the biggest loser if a guy thought it was okay to treat me that way. Then it clicked in my head that he's the douche. And then I got angry. Like, really angry. Derby couldn't have come at a more perfect time, because I needed a healthy outlet for my rage, otherwise I was afraid I'd go all Bobbitt or something.
We started out by getting timed doing 25 laps. Perfect. I kept my head down, puffed my cheeks out, and skated as hard as I could to release my angry tension. And guess what happened?
I did my 25 laps in under five minutes. I came in at 4:53. Fink beat The Stomach.
Which means that I shaved 47 seconds off my first time, in only three and a half weeks. Three and a half weeks!!! I thought it was going to take me six months to close the gap, but I did it. I did it. And then I didn't even feel angry anymore.
So maybe I should be thanking El Douche - if he hadn't stood me up, I wouldn't have gotten pissed, my anger wouldn't have simmered and built up to almost uncontrollable rage, and I wouldn't have pushed myself so hard on those laps. Maybe I wouldn't have reached my goal. Maybe I owe him gratidude.
But instead of thanking him, I'd still rather donkey punch him.
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
A Summary of July:
at 9:52 AM