Let's Define CRAZY Shall We?

Crazy comes in many levels. There's crazy, as in 'baby you so crazee'. There's insane, as in 'check out that insane ride'. There's bat-shit crazy which is the seemingly opposite of sanity and common sense. And then there is BAT-SHIT FUCKING CRAZY. BSFC brings a whole new level to the crazy ladder. The Girlfriend Code is a small piece of a much larger incident that I truly needed these past two days to process.

Saturday night, mellow house party to celebrate the In-Between Christmas & New Years, we are making plans to ring in New Year's Eve, and the hostess and I decide to go play on the stripper pole installed in one of the bedrooms. Cue some Flo' Rida, take a cell phone pick, and the hostess offers 'hey, do you want to change into shorts so you get better grip?" Well, of course I do. I try on her black patent knee high boots with red satin laces up the side. The hostess offers "I have the cutest red top that matches those laces." Cue some Motley Crue, and there's no stopping me.

After a little "Girls, Girls, Girls" I go to walk down the hall and see my soon to be accuser, a.k.a. BFSCgirl, with her coat on, tears rolling down her face, and this vacant hollow look in her eyes. I ask "Hey, you leaving? What happened?" And all fucking hell broke loose.

"I have lost all faith in humanity!" says BSFCgirl. I still have no idea what the hell losing faith in humanity has to do with this.

**** was crazy about me until you came along. He wanted to see me not you. I have the text messages to prove it. The night of his party he said he wanted me." OK psycho, that was in April and it's December now.
You showed me all the text messages you sent ****** except for the one that said you wanted him. Actually I did show you that text because it was all in fun. we were all joking. just like it's a joke you saved text messages from April. And I saw those messages, he was crazy about your huge tits not you.
You slept with him. How can you say it was all in fun? You slept with him. You broke the girlfriend code. The fact you stalked him through his website for the past four years and never made a move in real life does not give you first dibs.
You're wearing a bra. Do you always dress like a whore? I didn't know the dress code was slutty attire tonight. I own swimsuits that show more skin. It's not like the whole party knows I got my hoohaa waxed two weeks ago.
He's down here watching you dance. You're a slutty whore. How could you come down here and dance for him. Oh honey if I really wanted to dance just for him, I wouldn't need to wait for tonight - and oh, he's not the only guy at the party or the only guy in the room.

The hostess came down the hall (thank god!) and asked what the fuck was going on. I made my way back into the pole room, while BFSCgirl proceeded to scream, yell, and rant at the hostess. **** and I stood there, looking at each other, almost dumbfounded, going "What the hell?"

BSFCgirl was asked to leave, and after she left the hostess came in to the pole room, and all three of us stood there dumbfounded, going "What the hell?" And just as we were gonna continue the party, BSFCgirl comes back into the house and unleashes again on all three of us together. Not a lot of what she said at this point was making sense... something about the three of us were conspiring against her, the hostess never lets her finish talking, **** didn't want to talk about her feelings when she did (newsflash, FWB agreements are JUST SEX - they are not about friendship, or feelings, and were created for the sole purpose of serving physical needs when no one else is available), and I was still a slutty whore. I'm sinking into the wall of the room, **** is cowered into the corner on the floor hiding behind his beer, and the hostess is asking her to leave again.
A final middle finger and "FUCK YOU!" to all of us as she was escorted out.

I have now seen BAT SHIT FUCKING CRAZY first hand, and it's not pretty. It's actually pretty pathetic. The twist that makes this BSFC and not just bat-shit crazy is the fact she thinks we need to apologize to her.
Let's see, back me into a wall, scream at me, call me names, and I'm supposed to apologize? Not gonna happen.

The Girlfriend Code

This weekend was a first. I was accused of breaking 'The Girlfriend Code.' I have read Cosmo, Glamour, and a few other magazines for the last twenty years of my life so I know the girlfriend code inside out and backwards. I don't know that 'the girlfriend code' is written out in it's entirety anywhere, however, I do know enough about it to know I did not break it.

Included in the girlfriend code is that you do not sleep with anyone's current husband/fiance/boyfriend, the ex husband's/fiance's/boyfriend's of your friends, or potential boyfriends of your friends. The object of an unrequited and unacted upon crush held by a friend (and in this instance the friend really only talks to me every couple months or so) is not included in the girlfriend code.

Turns out, after I dated said object of crush, my accuser entered into an FWB agreement with said crush even though it seems she had feelings for said crush (hello - a little self respect? anybody?) and seems to be very bitter about him not wanting to date her. And considering my stint with dating said crush ended around 6 months ago, and she had known for the past 6 months that we dated, the statute of limitations is clearly over.

If anyone broke the girlfriend code, it wasn't me.

And The Answer Is So Obvious

As I asked several friends my redneck question today, "what is it about me that screams redneck?"
Apparently, the answer is incredibly obvious to all but me. Discussing this with Sara and James tonight at happy hour, Sara looks at me and in all seriousness says

"Do you watch Redneck Wedding?" [check]

"Do you own guns?" [check]

"Do you have your own NASCAR driver?" [check]

"Where did you meet the latest redneck?" [in a bar with Roadhouse in it's name - check]

"Do you drive a Camaro?" [check]

And there I have it...

Only Rednecks Need Apply

There's something about me, not sure if there's a sign on my forehead or some vibe that I give off, that says "Please come hit on me if you hunt, fish, watch NASCAR, drive a 4x4, live in BFE, and it's a bonus if you are currently wearing any article of camo clothing."

mr.redbull is decidedly against me dating any more rednecks. He says it's just a familiarity thing for me because it's similar to the X-hubby. I am not looking for another cowboy, redneck, or hunter/gatherer type. That said, my attempts at dating non-rednecks haven't gone that well. One seemed to be slightly manic-depressive and the other was a worthless alcoholic that couldn't handle responsibility.

This past weekend I took a trip to the beach for a little very necessary R & R. Saturday night we went out to a local bar, and I met a cute guy who bought us girls drinks. Bonus - wearing a camo baseball cap. We traded numbers and I talked to him last night. Bonus number 2, he lives outside of Lincoln City on 10 acres. Bonus number 3, he's a Dale Jr fan. Bonus number 4, he hunts. Bonus number 5, he has dead animals mounted on his wall. I didn't ask about the truck, but I'd be willing to take bets that there's a 4x4 in his life somewhere.

So what do I do? Run the other way or go visit the beach again...