The Ex-Chronicles: Sexting the masses

It’s no secret my ex and I had one of those intense on-off-again relationships I tell everyone to avoid. I’ve probably blogged it to death. For that, I am not sorry because it’s my blog. But, as I was talking to one of the girls whom he had d-bagged almost as bad as he did me, I realized a lot of the shit I put up with was blog-worthy and I wasn’t blogging about it enough. Don’t judge, folks, because we’ve all been there at one time or another. Just laugh, because it’s funny.

So, this actually happened a while back:

You would have thought being on complete opposite sides of the US would mean the ex would stop harassing me, trying to convince me he missed me and wanted me back. It didn’t. As a matter of fact, I think I’ve heard from him more since our relationship finale than when I was living with him.

I’m pretty sure he has a form of anti-social personality disorder to get busted for as much as he has and somehow think saying ‘sorry’ and writing sweet, hand-written notes, sending adult toys and mass-sexting on (what he thinks is) ‘the down-low’ will make everything okay.

It isn’t. But to be fair, I did put up with it, so at some point, it stopped being his fault and started being mine. Hey, I can be honest. But I digress.

So,  mass-sexting the dirty bits to a group of girls is never a good idea. Because when everyone responds, everyone gets it. Imagine my surprise when my phone was ambushed by several numbers from his area code, saying things like, “Mmmm, so delish!,” “Sexy!,” “Can’t w8 2 (censored),” and “U r so haaaaaawt!”

I was like, “Holy crap! How did these people know I was having a good hair/face day?”

Kidding.

I immediately knew what that was about, even if I had ignored the initial pic-text. What’s more annoying is, a few weeks before then, he had sent me what I thought was a heartfelt email/text about his feelings, me, us and how he wanted to move to be with me. I could have almost believed that, except I knew better.

And with that one mass-sext of his jiggly bits, he negated every word of what he had said, like I probably knew he would somewhere in the back of my mind.

So, I did what every other girl wouldn’t have the balls to do - I put my class on a shelf and mass text all the numbers who  replied to my phone the same image he had sent me (and everyone else) along with the ‘heartfelt’ one and said basically said, “catfight, go.”

Some of the girls were ‘shocked and appalled’ while others wanted to debate the validity of everything I sent them as well as my motive for doing so. The driving force behind what I did was being annoyed that I was still dealing with his douchebauchery.

So, I blocked all their numbers along with his and imagined the field day he was having with that mess. I’m sure he wasn’t worried – he knows how to clean up his own mess – no pun … okay, pun intended.

Anyway, all I could do was shake my head because if he stopped for a minute to look at the angle of the photo he sent, he would have seen it wasn’t the most complimentary angle for his junk.  As a matter of fact, the photographer part of my brain sized up the pic and came up with at least two other angles that wouldn’t necessarily have made it look any bigger, or more like anything I wanted to see, but perhaps he could have at least made it look less ‘nubby.’

Seriously, this reminded me of the first offense which took place eight months after we started dating:

He left his email up on my computer one day – and, guys, if you do this and expect a chick NOT to take a peek, you expect too much from us.

So, he leaves his email up on my computer, but I think it’s my email at first. So, I start digging trying to figure out where all my mail went. It didn’t take long for me to figure out it wasn’t my account. Especially after I went to the sent folder and saw about five multimedia messages he had sent from his phone to some girls of his junk.  With sexy captions underneath the photo to help illustrate how desirable he thought his no-no parts looked in the photo.

And out of all those girls, he didn’t even think to send me one – his GIRLFRIEND.

Not that I wanted a pic of his junk, but if anyone was more entitled to that, it would be me – the GIRLFRIEND. Right? And no matter how you describe it, man-junk is never going to be cute, so why dress it up with a caption? Saying things like, “thinking about you” and “this is all yours” doesn’t make it more appealing, especially if "all of that" was shot an an angle that made it look like a baby carrot. 

Haha, but boy, was I pissed! Not just because I wasn’t even considered to be on the recipient list of that little gem – no pun intended – but also because it was a douchebag move. And even though I called him out with the proof right in front of him, he tried to deny it. It wasn’t speculation and allegation … it was confirmation – and he looked me right in the eyes and said, “I didn’t do it, babe.”

Whaaaa -for serious?

But, that was the beginning of the end, ladies and gentlemen. Once that line was crossed, my ‘forgiveness’ was mistaken for ‘acceptance’ and … well, the rest is a historical waste of time. 

Remember when Hugh Grant got caught with the transvestite hooker?  And he owned it on national television and every other media outlet? I was torn between, “ew” and “wow … respect, son.” Not like ex-President Bill Clinton trying to convince the nation that getting a blow job was not in the same category as having sexual relations when discussing the mess he left on Monica Lewinsky’s dress, which he eventually conceded could, in fact, be construed as sexual relations.

Not that either guy is a role model. And why the hell would that girl not have the dress cleaned?  Presidential sperm is not really worth money ... just a scandal for all involved. 

Ah, but again, I digress.