No, this isn't a story about glittery poop, although if I had a story about glittery poop, you can bet your ass I'd be sharing it.
Fun fact: I think talking about poop is the height of hilarity, but I WILL NOT let anyone hear me poop. Hell, I run the water when I pee. Why? Fuck if I know. I've been doing it for as long as I can remember, literally. Mom says I started when I was 3 and she doesn't know where I picked it up, either.
One time a boyfriend and I ate out, and despite taking my magical Lactaid pills, my stomach became quite irate (like how God gets when you waste sperm) on the drive home. By the time we got to my place, I wanted to burst... but instead, I suggested he start a movie and I would join him in a few minutes. I found a movie, put it in, and waited until it was good and started (meaning, lots of sound going on) before I went to the bathroom and let it all go. With the water running. I'm not asking for this to make sense. I'm just relating the tale of pain and woe. As crass I have become, I guess I still retain some of that good ol' Southern Belle decorum somewhere in me. SO NO POOP NOISES. But I'll tell you all about it afterward.
Glitter dump actually is the title I'm giving my story about the time I was dumped while covered in glitter. CREATIVE.
A few years ago, I was still doing the online dating thing despite a rocky start. I'd met a guy who was at least a couple inches shorter than he claimed on his profile, and had sort of a weird voice and smell (which I solved by telling him his body wash was the same one my dad uses and I didn't want to date a guy who smells like my dad, so maybe if I bought him a different body wash he would use it?), but was otherwise quite nice. He was easy to get along with, fun in the sack, and generally a good guy. I figured, summer fling.
He lived about 45 minutes or so away, so we fell into an easy pattern of chatting during the week, and then he would spend weekends at my place. Pleasant enough.
Full admission: I have a really bad habit when it comes to ending relationships, one that I have been actively aware of and working diligently on for a while now and really I haven't done this in quite some time. But back then, it was still full-fledged and ugly... when feelings had faded, rather than realizing that and approaching it like an adult, I would start getting bratty. Bitchy. Picking fights, getting upset over really idiotic things, the whole teen-age-girl-works. Sometimes it wasn't until later that I even realized that's why I was acting that way - I wanted him to break up with me so I wouldn't have to be The Bad Guy.
There I was, being bitchy. I yelled at him about something really stupid, something I'd basically baited him into saying in the first place (oh god this is embarrassing to admit, and I swear I don't do this shit anymore, did I mention this was YEARS ago?). Somehow he put up with that and we trooped through the weekend. We even made plans to see each other mid-week.
I was excited for mid-week sexy time, and since he lived in a distant land, I had plenty of time after work to prep. I took a bath with a LUSH glitter bath bomb, and greeted him at my door wearing nothing but pink pajama pants, glitter, and a grin.
He came in, not touching me or smiling, in fact clearly trying to avert his eyes from my perky, welcoming, rock-star-shiny boobs, and said we needed to talk.
"Oh. Is this the sort of talk I will want a shirt for?"
"Um. I guess that's up to you."
"...that's a yes."
And so I put on a shirt (I think? I hope? I honestly can't remember), and we broke up. It wasn't that I wanted to keep dating him, it was that I thought we both knew it was just a summer fling - we hardly saw one another and never talked about anything remotely serious. His reasons for breaking up with me were that if we had problems now, we'd have even bigger problems 6 months from now. Solid logic, but all I could think was: Six entire months?? He thought it would last that long? Huh. I had no idea.
I didn't take the news well. Rejection is hard even if it's coming from someone you aren't sure you want, and at this point in my life I believe I was also off my meds and not dealing with much of anything well. I got mad, told him to get his "damn stuff" out of my bathroom - toothbrush, body wash, whatever. He did, and I told him to throw it in the fucking trash. He did. Then he said he'd take the trash out.
He didn't come back.
I called him and left a voicemail calling him a coward.
Yep. I was THAT AWESOME.
Of course, if I were him? I wouldn't have wanted to come back, either, to a raving lunatic covered in glitter. And I still give the guy mad props (another phrase I love but am not sure I can really pull off. Yo, homies, whatchoo think?) for not taking advantage of the nearly-naked, shimmering, sex-ready lady and instead carrying through with his mission. Also for driving all the way out in rush hour just to break up with me in person, like a man. Good on ya, shorty! Unfortunately the result of all that was one of the more humiliating breakups I've been through.
(Yes I am back on meds now thankyouverymuch)
EDIT - because this is me we are talking about, I decided to look up this guy on Facebook after writing all this crap. Found him, and through the magic of Facebook discovered that he is friends with someone who is related to someone who reads this blog. Damn, this city really is getting smaller by the minute. People are going to start playing 6 Degrees of BobGinger.
Also I should probably stop e-stalking people. Startiiiiiiiiiiiing.... nowwwwwwwwwww..... iiiiiiiiiiish...