Ex-boyfriend hits current boyfriend
The Michigan Daily – Tuesday, January 22, 2002
A South Quad Residence Hall resident reported that her ex-boyfriend entered her room through an open door and punched her current boyfriend in the face at 10:15 p.m. Thursday and then left the area, according to DPS reports. The report was made 15 minutes after the incident, and the suspect was not located in the area. The victim did not require any medical attention.
My first 15 minutes of fame (ok, more like 5 minutes) was the result of the University of Michigan’s Crime Notes. The ex-boyfriend in question is "Assholio." Assholio was my high school sweetheart for 2 ½ years. A normal, well-adjusted, emotionally stable individual would think that a 2 ½ year relationship would necessitate a formal break-up; well, I am none of these things and accordingly, I did not think such a thing was essential.
With my turnover rate, if I was a basketball player, I would be forced into early retirement. For that reason, I am a huge fan of the Fadeout. A real breakup requires too much effort. More often than not a Fadeout is completely sufficient; I just sorta let the relationship fade until it’s can no longer be defined as a relationship. No confrontation necessary. You see, I hate confrontation. I abhor it. I avoid it at all costs. I prefer to take the passive mode, allowing the relationship to end itself. More often than not, I can’t offer the guy an explanation anyway – I mean who wants to hear that I woke up this morning and realized I really don’t like you anymore, which is exactly what happened with Assholio. Well, not exactly. We learned about Schizotypal personality disorder in Psych 101, and things just started clicking. Anyway, I can’t be bothered with dramatic farewells, the questioning of motives or incessant inquiry. I’m bored. I want out. Ciao! I try to pretend the “breakup” is none of their business. Sometimes it works and sometimes I have to send them an email.
I sent Assholio an email. It was concise and to the point. Something along the lines of:
We’ve grown apart. You’re not what I want. I need to experience college to its fullest and being a part of this relationship isn’t going to allow me the freedom to do that.
Not surprisingly Assholio assumed I had met another guy. He called me later that night and accused me of whoring around my hall and cheating on him. I did not cheat on him; however, I had developed a crush on Chris, an engineer who lived down the hall and was eager to kiss a guy who wasn’t going to pinch my “ham hocks,” the area right above the hipbone, to insure I wasn’t “heffing” out on him. That night Chris happened to stop by my room (ok, I probably invited him) when Assholio called in an attempt to salvage our relationship.
“What are you doing? Can I come by and talk face-to-face?” he pleaded.
“I have plans; I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I informed him.
“With another guy?”
“No, Assholio,” I glossed.
“You’re fucking another guy, aren’t you?!!!”
“No, Assholio,” I answered honestly. Seriously, why is it always about sex?
“YOU ARE!!”
“Whatever. You’re psycho.”
“NO, you are fucking some other dude. I know it! Who is he? Does he have a bigger penis than me?” he demanded.
I giggled. Mens’ preoccupation with their genitalia is utterly ridiculous. “Shut up,” I pleaded.
“No, tell me, is his penis bigger than mine?”
“Whose penis?”
“The guy you’re fucking!!!!” he screamed.
I couldn’t help myself… “Actually, yeah, he is enormous. It’s like comparing a zucchini to a baby carrot. Are you happy?”
Click. He hung up.
I turned to poor Chris who was sitting at my computer desk looking as though he just witnessed genocide. “Sorry about that. You know how breakups go…” Actually, he did, since he and his high school sweetheart were in the process of calling it quits as well. College does not seem to readily except High school relationship transfer credits.
“Um.. it’s ok,” he assured me with a forced smile.
We returned to pretending to watch whatever movie we rented from the library.
Around 10:15 p.m., Assholio came barging in with his younger brother in town. The younger brother grabbed me and pushed me up against the wall, completely immobilizing me. I made like Jessica Biel in Texas Chainsaw Massacre and screamed for help. “Ronald!!!!! RONALD!!!” Meanwhile, Assholio sucker punched a stunned Chris smack in the face. Chris was an All-State wrestler, so he put Assholio in a headlock and took him to the floor in a matter of 15 seconds.
Ronald, a 50 Cent look-alike bad ass ran into the room and separated Chris and Assholio in a motion as smooth as a seagull swooping in for some Alka Seltzer Gold. Assholio took one look at Ron and ducked out of the room immediately.
The Department of Public Safety showed up as we all tried to clean up the wreckage. I filed a report. Assholio was banned indefinitely from the University of Michigan’s campus and I was crowned Ms. Drama Queen of 3rd Cooley, East Quad.
In retrospect, Assholio's freak out was probably warranted. I mean, we didn’t have a meaningless fling, or even a two month pseudo-relationship. We dated for over two years. We were each other’s first everything. I guess sometimes a real breakup really is necessary.
The Michigan Daily – Tuesday, January 22, 2002
A South Quad Residence Hall resident reported that her ex-boyfriend entered her room through an open door and punched her current boyfriend in the face at 10:15 p.m. Thursday and then left the area, according to DPS reports. The report was made 15 minutes after the incident, and the suspect was not located in the area. The victim did not require any medical attention.
My first 15 minutes of fame (ok, more like 5 minutes) was the result of the University of Michigan’s Crime Notes. The ex-boyfriend in question is "Assholio." Assholio was my high school sweetheart for 2 ½ years. A normal, well-adjusted, emotionally stable individual would think that a 2 ½ year relationship would necessitate a formal break-up; well, I am none of these things and accordingly, I did not think such a thing was essential.
With my turnover rate, if I was a basketball player, I would be forced into early retirement. For that reason, I am a huge fan of the Fadeout. A real breakup requires too much effort. More often than not a Fadeout is completely sufficient; I just sorta let the relationship fade until it’s can no longer be defined as a relationship. No confrontation necessary. You see, I hate confrontation. I abhor it. I avoid it at all costs. I prefer to take the passive mode, allowing the relationship to end itself. More often than not, I can’t offer the guy an explanation anyway – I mean who wants to hear that I woke up this morning and realized I really don’t like you anymore, which is exactly what happened with Assholio. Well, not exactly. We learned about Schizotypal personality disorder in Psych 101, and things just started clicking. Anyway, I can’t be bothered with dramatic farewells, the questioning of motives or incessant inquiry. I’m bored. I want out. Ciao! I try to pretend the “breakup” is none of their business. Sometimes it works and sometimes I have to send them an email.
I sent Assholio an email. It was concise and to the point. Something along the lines of:
We’ve grown apart. You’re not what I want. I need to experience college to its fullest and being a part of this relationship isn’t going to allow me the freedom to do that.
Not surprisingly Assholio assumed I had met another guy. He called me later that night and accused me of whoring around my hall and cheating on him. I did not cheat on him; however, I had developed a crush on Chris, an engineer who lived down the hall and was eager to kiss a guy who wasn’t going to pinch my “ham hocks,” the area right above the hipbone, to insure I wasn’t “heffing” out on him. That night Chris happened to stop by my room (ok, I probably invited him) when Assholio called in an attempt to salvage our relationship.
“What are you doing? Can I come by and talk face-to-face?” he pleaded.
“I have plans; I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I informed him.
“With another guy?”
“No, Assholio,” I glossed.
“You’re fucking another guy, aren’t you?!!!”
“No, Assholio,” I answered honestly. Seriously, why is it always about sex?
“YOU ARE!!”
“Whatever. You’re psycho.”
“NO, you are fucking some other dude. I know it! Who is he? Does he have a bigger penis than me?” he demanded.
I giggled. Mens’ preoccupation with their genitalia is utterly ridiculous. “Shut up,” I pleaded.
“No, tell me, is his penis bigger than mine?”
“Whose penis?”
“The guy you’re fucking!!!!” he screamed.
I couldn’t help myself… “Actually, yeah, he is enormous. It’s like comparing a zucchini to a baby carrot. Are you happy?”
Click. He hung up.
I turned to poor Chris who was sitting at my computer desk looking as though he just witnessed genocide. “Sorry about that. You know how breakups go…” Actually, he did, since he and his high school sweetheart were in the process of calling it quits as well. College does not seem to readily except High school relationship transfer credits.
“Um.. it’s ok,” he assured me with a forced smile.
We returned to pretending to watch whatever movie we rented from the library.
Around 10:15 p.m., Assholio came barging in with his younger brother in town. The younger brother grabbed me and pushed me up against the wall, completely immobilizing me. I made like Jessica Biel in Texas Chainsaw Massacre and screamed for help. “Ronald!!!!! RONALD!!!” Meanwhile, Assholio sucker punched a stunned Chris smack in the face. Chris was an All-State wrestler, so he put Assholio in a headlock and took him to the floor in a matter of 15 seconds.
Ronald, a 50 Cent look-alike bad ass ran into the room and separated Chris and Assholio in a motion as smooth as a seagull swooping in for some Alka Seltzer Gold. Assholio took one look at Ron and ducked out of the room immediately.
The Department of Public Safety showed up as we all tried to clean up the wreckage. I filed a report. Assholio was banned indefinitely from the University of Michigan’s campus and I was crowned Ms. Drama Queen of 3rd Cooley, East Quad.
In retrospect, Assholio's freak out was probably warranted. I mean, we didn’t have a meaningless fling, or even a two month pseudo-relationship. We dated for over two years. We were each other’s first everything. I guess sometimes a real breakup really is necessary.
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