Monkey in the middle

Of my colorful and turbulent love life and of all of the characters – some from cartoons, some from horror films – there are three that I count as life altering. Three. Three very distinct women that when you put in order from first to last are:

1. Incrementally older.
2. Born (or astrologically located) in the beginning, middle and end of the year.
3. My longest relationships.

This, of course, is pure coincidence. Like their misfortune of accidentally falling for me.

Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I was nice enough to help two out of the three quickly un-fall-in-love. And smart enough to do everything in my power to keep the last one. It was the lessons I learned from the first two that have made me successful thus far.

Also in the coincidence column is the fact that Numbers One, Two and Three had the misfortune of meeting each other, personally. It’s not like I made them swap numbers in case of an emergency or if anyone had questions or if anyone needed support or a shopping buddy. They met because they just happened to hang out in the same circles. The same vicious, Sarte-like, ring of “who caught genital warts this week?” Seriously, I know miracles exist because I survived that circle untouched by herpes. And for this, I thank God every day.

Granted, I introduced them to the circle, as they were each my friend before becoming my girlfriend and some were my girlfriend while I had a girlfriend. So, yes, I take blame for the mess. It was messy, and at that time, so was I.

Personally, I think it’s nice everyone knows each other. It’s always better to have an image of the person you internally dislike than no image at all. But that’s just me.

Obviously, many years have passed, my messiness is better contained and everyone is settled and happy. So, I didn’t really see the harm in hosting Numbers One, Two and Three on Facebook. There they were, thriving independently on my page, among unsuspecting friends. Not a care in the world.

Until…

Number Three got a notice on her news feed that Number Two commented on one of my photos. “Oh no she didn’t,” she said. And she said it genuinely, without any sort of glamorized ghetto accent. “Why is she commenting on your picture?” number three asked.

“Um. Because it’s Facebook and people do that sort of stuff.”

A few weeks later, when I regained my internet privileges and paid a hefty fine that contributed to a L.A.M.B. purse, I returned to Facebook to find Number One’s scathing message. She explained that she was about to write a message on my wall, when she noticed Number Two (who she had not noticed was my friend until that moment) had beat her to it.  “DID YOU FRIEND NUMBER TWO?” she wrote in caps.

I thought to myself, “What the fuck is going on?” And then I chuckled when I realized that, finally, Number One and Number Three had one thing they could agree on. It was all a bunch of silliness and I really didn’t think much of it.

Until…

Number One left me a nasty voicemail. And, if that wasn’t enough, she unfriended me for the simple reason that she didn’t want to be associated with Number Two in any way. Number One went as far as creating a new profile and forbade me to post anything or comment on it.

I though it would pass. “She will come to her senses,” I surmised. Oh, and if you’re wondering, I didn’t mention any of this to Number Three because – well – really, why stir the pot?

Until…

Number Three said, “Hey, don’t you think that maybe having inappropriate conversations with Number Two on your wall for everyone to see is a huge slap in the face for me?” Okay, pay attention, this is how NOT to respond to this type of questioning. I repeat, DO NOT respond the way I did.

“What are you talking about?”

No! Even if you haven’t a clue about what she is saying. It doesn’t matter! Instead, say this:

“You know what? I’m the biggest asshole in the world. Bigger than Balloon Boy’s dad, bigger than Kanye, I mean I’m the close up in a gay porn asshole. I am so sorry, it didn’t even occur to me that talking about patio furniture was foreplay.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t answer that way and the consequence was not only a huge fight that lasted into the next morning, but she, much like Number One, unfriended me on Facebook.

So, let’s recap. Number One and Three are pissed at me for Facebooking with Number Two and have both unfriended me as a consequence.

Until…

I caved to peer pressure, divorce pressure and couch discomfort. I had to. It was for the best.

I unfriended Number Two.

Without even a warning. Like the ubrupt ending to a relationship.