What a Mess

Well, I have gone and made an ass of myself again.



Yesterday, I came home from work and called my mom. She wanted me to look up something on the Internet, so I sat down at the computer.



A window was minimized. When I opened it, this is what I found:



"Hi miss lady. U is a hottie. Can I get to know u better sweety? What's your name? Mine is L______. Talk to u soon, i hope."



This was in a "send message" window, next to a picture and a personal ad from a 31-year-old redhead.



My heart started pounding. I mean, I could hear it in my ears. Uh-uh--I'm not going through THAT again, I thought.



I picked up the phone and dialled LJ's cell number. When he answered (obviously just waking up from a nap--he was at his mom's house), I read exactly what was on the screen in front of me. I waited for a moment, and when he said nothing, I hung up the phone.



A couple of minutes later, he called back. "Now what was all that?" he asked. "I just woke up."



I read it to him again. "Now, that's almost EXACTLY word-for-word a copy of the first message you sent me...with that in mind, you wanna tell me it was Raj wrote that?" I asked him.



"No, it wasn't Raj--it was Marcus and John this time. They was on the computer, but then I had to get out here and they gave me a ride to the El, and they must have left that open. So what did dude say about the car?"



Oh no you don't, thinks Gladys. I am NOT going to let him derail the rage train. "He said if we can get out there tomorrow he'll give us another loaner. I mean, I can take care of that....if I know I'm not getting PLAYED...."



"You still on THAT? I told you, it was Marcus! I ain't even ON that computer like that. I mean, I might get on there to check some NBA stuff, but I ain't on there like Marcus, to holler at bitches..."



I choke back some well-placed feminist sarcasm to focus on the matter at hand.



"Yeah, well, what about the name?"

"What you mean?"

"They used your name. I mean, your NAME name."

"What, you mean L____? Girl, that ain't my name..."



I looked. He was right. It was close, but it was definitely not his name. But when I saw it, as pissed as I was, apparently my brain wasn't making little distinctions like THAT.



"Goddamn. You're right," I told him. "See, THIS is what happens when I panic. I turn into an idiot."



Actually, it was a good thing, in the end. Apparently seeing me make an ass of myself freed LJ up to say a few things that had been on his mind, about my style of communication: basically, when something bothers me I say nothing, but then he comes home after a hard day and finds a note bitching about whatever-it-is. (In my defense: the notes are FAR from bitchy, and not as frequent as he claims--but I totally see his point. As he said, "Here I am, coming home where everything's supposed to be all good, and I walk in the door and find a note and I'm like 'awwww, shit.'" Which, when I think about it from his point of view, makes perfect sense.)



This afternoon, when he finally came home, I said to him, "In case I didn't make myself perfectly clear last night: I'm sorry about yesterday. I made a total ass of myself."



He laughed. "I ain't even studyin' that," he said.



For the record, in case this comes back to bite me in the ass: I am not entirely sure I believe him. I would LIKE to believe him; I'm just not sure I do. Every time a man has told me to believe something that contradicts the evidence, it's turned out that I've been right and he's been lying. I have never yet caught LJ in a lie, however, and so I'm inclined to let myself believe. Time will tell, and in the meantime I'm going to be a little more cautious than usual with my feelings.