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Love Wars VI: The Return of the Bitch

June 6, 2014

Given the title of what is, I hope, my final entry in a tale that, like its analogous origins, seems less about the journey of its protagonist than that of its lead villain, I present you with this song in lieu of my attempts at transliterating John Williams’ memorable score:

Though it was running through my head as I came up with the title, Elton John’s celebratory flippancy seems disconcerting in light of my tale of woe. Let’s just say that the one upside in my own struggle to bring Darth Oblivious back from the dark side of the friendzone myth was that there were no Ewoks.

After DO made it known that he saw himself as more analagous to Prince Charming in some Disneyfied fairy tale, eager to fight off dragons and witches and lions and tigers and bears–oh my!–in order to save me from the residual curse of my last relationship and prove that I can love again–

Hold on there. I didn’t realize it was possible to roll the eyes so far back in the head that they got stuck. Gimme a second here.

–There we go. Anyway, I knew I had to put some distance between Darth Oblivious and myself, a suspicion that I knew would be confirmed when I called my friend and fellow defender of the childfree and asked, with a sigh, “Do you think it’s possible for a man who’s declared his sexual interest to ever be fine with a completely platonic relationship?”

Amazingly enough, my confidant assured me that it was, thanks to being the bearer of unrequited crushes many a time himself. He did warn me, however, that I had to give DO space to let his attraction subside and call me when he was ready to be friends without benefits…you know, besides the generally pleasant ones associated with a good friendship. Take that, Nice Guys (TM)!

I was perfectly prepared to do that. But first, I had two issues to contend with: one was the final video in the vasectomy-promoting series DO had begun and for which he had brought me on as a consultant, which was to be shot the following Monday, and the other a Facebook friend request from someone I was currently doubtful I could be real-life friends with.

The video shoot, which in its final iteration featured a man firing off selections from Darth Oblivious’ gun collection as he made comparisons between handling a gun and, uh, handling another sort of weapon that is occasionally wont to misfire, went well enough, thanks in no small part to the presence of the video’s lead actor who cracked jokes, charmed the camera, and generally diffused the obvious tension that buzzed between DO and me. When the shoot wrapped and I started back for my car, though, DO’s sigh to the actor about how he “wished I were available” convinced me that no speed limit was going to hinder me in my attempt to get home posthaste.

I generally ignored DO’s texts for the better part of the week, figuring out exactly how I was going to phrase my “it’s not you, it’s me…okay, who am I kidding, it IS you” speech. I opened up Facebook while contemplating the matter at brunch one day. DO’s picture, featuring him in sunglasses and a flight helmet that looked oddly reminscent of Darth Vader’s, immediately popped up alongside his name.

Well, I mused, if I can’t consider a friend offline right now, I shouldn’t consider him a Facebook friend either. After all, we all know it’s not real until it’s on FacebookProud of my logical thought process, I confidently hit the “Ignore” button.

Not two seconds later, my phone’s screen blazed with a text: “HA! I knew you wouldn’t accept my friend request!” it railed bitterly. As a barrage ensued, I stared blankly at the bar of the restaurant I was in and thought, Maybe a good time to move to California would be RIGHT NOW.

After both the unanswered barrage and quickly consumed brunch were over, I did the only thing I could think to do: I called my confidant again and relayed the latest development, mentioning the fact that DO had both my address and a collection that could make the cover of Guns & Ammo. 

My friend could barely wait until I finished. “Okay, this guy needs to go, now. And maybe you should go stay with family for a couple days.”

I sat down and clutched my forehead. He was absolutely right, of course. I took a few deep breaths after we ended the call, then started a careful hunt-and-peck on my iPhone.


At this point, I had already logged into Sprint and opened up the blocked numbers list, to which I’d immediately added his number. The fifteen minute window they warned me about before such a change went into effect, however, was apparently ample time to seal Darth Oblivious’ fate:


IMG_1435 IMG_1436 IMG_1437 IMG_1438


What I find most interesting in this exchange is the time stamp. The first series accusing me of being a man-hating, frigid etc. lunatic took place STARTING at 4:48 p.m. The last two texts arrived at 5:17, not half an hour later. By this time, I’d finally gotten confirmation from Sprint that it would block texts from his number, and that, I thought, was the disastrous end to that.

*  *  *

A month later, I was staying with my friend and confidant through this whole crisis. He had just met a woman for whom he was rapidly developing feelings, and I was supporting him in the best way I knew how: by randomly shouting, in a voice that channeled my inner third grader, “OOOOOOOH, you have a GIRLFRIEND! You’re in LOOOOOOOOVE!” I am, it must be noted, genuinely happy for him, although I did promise him floor space if he needed somewhere else to be should things go to hell because that’s the kind of capital-R romantic I am!*

*No, seriously, the Brontë sisters’ works are generally considered to fall into this category, and look how well love turned out for their protagonists! If I ever lay claims to romance, I go old school.

My maturity was interrupted, probably to my friend’s delight, by the arrival of a series of texts from a number I thought had been blocked. “I felt bad about how things ended and for what I said,” it began, going on to explain that apparently “EVERYONe [sic] thought I was way out of line and so now I feel purty dumb.”

While I certainly had to agree with EVERYONe, I also had to trust in what I’d said a month before about ceasing communication. The way he’d reacted to that had profoundly disturbed me, and luckily, I had confirmation for my beliefs right in the room I happened to be in with my friend telling me to just ignore him…and try blocking the number again.

That failed again. I received yet another message a few days later, stating that my silence was “fine” (oh, man, thanks, Darth Oblivious!!!! I’d been anxiously awaiting your validation!) and asking if I could return the book that I’d already mailed back. I once again felt it safer not to respond–no need to give him an opening, especially as he’d mentioned being out of state. He could find the book when he returned.

And thus endeth a story that I hope will not hurtle forward into its own expanded universe. I could do without DO popping back into my life like Anakin Skywalker’s ghost at the end of the original trilogy, though that could easily happen at any time before I move to the West Coast.

But maybe I should be secretly hoping for an additional helping of drama in my own life. After all, the more I collect, the better I’ll be able to create an epically drawn-out saga of my own.


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  1. Good Lord! Some guys simply cannot take a hint! I’m sorry you had to go through any of this.

    • Aww, thank you! Definitely both cases sucked, but then again, it’s hard to create blog content out of perfect contentment. :p

      • That is true. I shake my head at people who profess their entire lives are absolute perfection. That just isn’t possible, unless they live in some kind of utopia the rest of the world is not yet aware of.

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