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What's the worst lie an ex-partner or ex-friend ever say about you?
- Thread starter Snarky Oracle!
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That I was good in bed.
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I was accused of being unfaithful, which was not at all true or with any basis. I later learned I was the one being cheated on!
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Projection is a big part of this.
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These aren't necessarily friends, of course, but I've observed throughout my lifetime that a lot of people manufacture degrading she/he "wants me" stories as a defense mechanism or for some other strategic purpose... Sometimes it's projection, and sometimes it's something else.
It seems to be a favorite technique.
It seems to be a favorite technique.
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This is at least in the general area of the thread topic, but....
I had a "friend" for years who once admitted (just a couple of years before the friendship ended) that she had a policy of deliberately treating the friends who were nice to her worse (I guess she assumes their niceness to her to be a sign of weakness and/or low-self-esteem) in order to make those friends scramble to be even nicer to her still...
She even had a little term for it, calling it: "keeping the blessings flowing in (her) direction." So, she had turned her sh!tty, gutter selfishness into a spiritual concept.
Her mother used to warn her daughter that if she didn't start treating me better, she was going to lose my friendship (whom her mother identified as "the nicest friend you've got.") Which is notable, because I'm pretty low-maintenance as a friend.
Once it finally happened, and she'd driven me off after years of our acquaintanceship, she went into meltdown (for whatever reason) and began lying elaborately about me --- forever. The irony that doing so just validated my kicking her to the curb probably not entirely lost on her, but, as long as it works....
Naturally, her stories are mostly taken on face value, encouraging mutual friends to drop me before I do something to them, too... She has all the integrity of Amy Fisher with a piano. I'm assuming she hasn't shot anybody.
About 10 years after I took off, her husband left her, too. And she's been very, very careful to say only nice things about him -- even online -- which at least one of her pals asserted (to me) that would not have happened had I not taken off first. But she's clever enough to know that if she smeared and berated her husband in the same way she has me, that it might hurt her credibility... And she'd rather maintain her smear of me than of him.
And she knows she can't have both smears.
She remains fixated for eons. Unwilling to deal with what she knows was her own behavior... Worse, my dropping her just made me seem "stronger" to her than her other friends she'd disrespected, and therefore causing me, I guess, to appear more worthy and desirable in some way, driving her even more nuts.
She'll do it 'til she dies.
Exhausting? Not if you don't choose to be around it anymore --- at least until another little trinket of malicious gossip floats back.
But you find yourself wondering why you put up with it for so long.
The "he/she wants me" trope Is adjacent to, "they're jealous of me." (Like Joan Collins enjoys).
I had a "friend" for years who once admitted (just a couple of years before the friendship ended) that she had a policy of deliberately treating the friends who were nice to her worse (I guess she assumes their niceness to her to be a sign of weakness and/or low-self-esteem) in order to make those friends scramble to be even nicer to her still...
She even had a little term for it, calling it: "keeping the blessings flowing in (her) direction." So, she had turned her sh!tty, gutter selfishness into a spiritual concept.
Her mother used to warn her daughter that if she didn't start treating me better, she was going to lose my friendship (whom her mother identified as "the nicest friend you've got.") Which is notable, because I'm pretty low-maintenance as a friend.
Once it finally happened, and she'd driven me off after years of our acquaintanceship, she went into meltdown (for whatever reason) and began lying elaborately about me --- forever. The irony that doing so just validated my kicking her to the curb probably not entirely lost on her, but, as long as it works....
Naturally, her stories are mostly taken on face value, encouraging mutual friends to drop me before I do something to them, too... She has all the integrity of Amy Fisher with a piano. I'm assuming she hasn't shot anybody.
About 10 years after I took off, her husband left her, too. And she's been very, very careful to say only nice things about him -- even online -- which at least one of her pals asserted (to me) that would not have happened had I not taken off first. But she's clever enough to know that if she smeared and berated her husband in the same way she has me, that it might hurt her credibility... And she'd rather maintain her smear of me than of him.
And she knows she can't have both smears.
She remains fixated for eons. Unwilling to deal with what she knows was her own behavior... Worse, my dropping her just made me seem "stronger" to her than her other friends she'd disrespected, and therefore causing me, I guess, to appear more worthy and desirable in some way, driving her even more nuts.
She'll do it 'til she dies.
Exhausting? Not if you don't choose to be around it anymore --- at least until another little trinket of malicious gossip floats back.
But you find yourself wondering why you put up with it for so long.
The "he/she wants me" trope Is adjacent to, "they're jealous of me." (Like Joan Collins enjoys).
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Oh, and then there's that guy I knew for a couple of years (on the job) when we were around 30.
He was a bit of a rascal (I recall John "Cougar" Mellencamp describing these kinds of rapscallion dudes he "loved" to hang-out with, "but you can't really trust them"). This guy looked markedly like a very young Sterling Hayden.
He was tall, in very good shape, a runner, and yet, despite his angular boyishly youthful features, his skin made him look like he was in his mid-forties. He was funny and fun to have a beer with --- and he liked me (narcissistic supply, as they call it) -- but I certainly understood he wasn't, indeed, someone to be trusted... And he had that weird, vacant, the-human-elements-are-missing, grinning, leering, potentially-serial-killer kind of face.
He was extremely promiscuous, of course, almost always with women. And he kept of photo on his bulletin board at the office of one of his girlfriends (causing him to rush back to take the photo down whenever his wife dropped by unexpectedly). But what seemed so insensitive was not even his endless philandering, but his overtness about it --- the entire worksite knew about it, subjecting his supposedly-guileless wife to the embarrassment of his co-workers "sympathy" for her.
But he also had this eternal quirk of flirting with men -- especially, if he thought they were gay. Whether that was a bicurious tendency raising its ugly head or a targeting of those gay men's vulnerabilities through his charm and attractiveness (I'd argue both) is an open question. He surrounded himself with gay dudes, the flirting unsubtle. But because it was a different time, our female co-workers simply didn't notice it because he "wasn't the type". (Today, of course, she'd process it very differently).
I had no illusions about him -- you couldn't, if you had any sense. But one day, in the computer room (haha!) at the worksite, one of those ladies, slightly more worldly than the smug others, walked past me out the room and muttered: "You need to keep your personal life to yourself..."
I later found out that this guy had been spreading the rumor throughout the office that I'd "made a pass" at him one afternoon at my apartment. A lie, of course -- I would never have been so stupid... But it didn't matter: he'd said it anyway... Which made no sense, either, as he was prone to running in midtown (which is quite a gay area) not to pick up tricks, in my opinion, but to garner their attention... And, knowing what time I got home from work, he'd sometimes drop by my apartment, after running, for a shower and a beer... And he was still doing this.
I don't think I'd keep dropping by someone's apartment if he kept trying to play grab-ass with me (especially if I wasn't into it).
Later, he told people that, "Snarky is trying to get me to join his pedo-circle -- I'm really worried that he could get into trouble..." At the time, I was unaware that there were "pedo-circles," but the story, improbable as it was, stuck and then followed me to another office (brought over by a colleague that my new job wasn't going to hire, and only chose to do so on my recommendation --- "no good deed," as they say).
Later, I called my sociopathic friend on these stories, and he just laughed --- he didn't even bother to deny it.
But I was far from the only co-worker or friend he did this to. In fact, the better he liked you, the more likely you were to be targeted with his stories. (He's the wolf and everybody else is a sheep -- he almost said as much). He even tried to convince us that one of our female co-workers had given him herpes -- and we knew he wasn't sleeping with her.
What always amazed me was how somebody who "got around" as much as this man-slut did still had the time, energy and focus to spin such lascivious yarns as he did about so many people.
His veneer briefly cracked, one afternoon, when the girls brought a sheet-cake for his birthday (as happened a couple of times a month for our tiny worksite). The breakroom was infinitesimal, so the birthday-person would usually cut the cake, and people would grab a piece and scurry back to their office/cubicle. But when he was handed the dull cake-knife so he good do the deed, he walked across the 8x10 foot room towards the cake, and his hands started to shake violently... Everybody's eyes darted back and forth towards each other in silent shock: this swaggering, confident, snickering, skirt-chasing, socially-acceptable cock-of-the-walk suddenly felt so 'on-stage' (with very few people even around, the area was so small) to the point of spasming.
You'd have thought he was a shy, 11-year-old girl forced to get up in front of the entire school and give a speech.
You were left to assume he had a lot of things to hide, and inexplicably felt a strange, irrational sense of exposure. (His holding a knife made it even creepier).
I just hope he never molested his daughters.
He was a bit of a rascal (I recall John "Cougar" Mellencamp describing these kinds of rapscallion dudes he "loved" to hang-out with, "but you can't really trust them"). This guy looked markedly like a very young Sterling Hayden.
He was tall, in very good shape, a runner, and yet, despite his angular boyishly youthful features, his skin made him look like he was in his mid-forties. He was funny and fun to have a beer with --- and he liked me (narcissistic supply, as they call it) -- but I certainly understood he wasn't, indeed, someone to be trusted... And he had that weird, vacant, the-human-elements-are-missing, grinning, leering, potentially-serial-killer kind of face.
He was extremely promiscuous, of course, almost always with women. And he kept of photo on his bulletin board at the office of one of his girlfriends (causing him to rush back to take the photo down whenever his wife dropped by unexpectedly). But what seemed so insensitive was not even his endless philandering, but his overtness about it --- the entire worksite knew about it, subjecting his supposedly-guileless wife to the embarrassment of his co-workers "sympathy" for her.
But he also had this eternal quirk of flirting with men -- especially, if he thought they were gay. Whether that was a bicurious tendency raising its ugly head or a targeting of those gay men's vulnerabilities through his charm and attractiveness (I'd argue both) is an open question. He surrounded himself with gay dudes, the flirting unsubtle. But because it was a different time, our female co-workers simply didn't notice it because he "wasn't the type". (Today, of course, she'd process it very differently).
I had no illusions about him -- you couldn't, if you had any sense. But one day, in the computer room (haha!) at the worksite, one of those ladies, slightly more worldly than the smug others, walked past me out the room and muttered: "You need to keep your personal life to yourself..."
I later found out that this guy had been spreading the rumor throughout the office that I'd "made a pass" at him one afternoon at my apartment. A lie, of course -- I would never have been so stupid... But it didn't matter: he'd said it anyway... Which made no sense, either, as he was prone to running in midtown (which is quite a gay area) not to pick up tricks, in my opinion, but to garner their attention... And, knowing what time I got home from work, he'd sometimes drop by my apartment, after running, for a shower and a beer... And he was still doing this.
I don't think I'd keep dropping by someone's apartment if he kept trying to play grab-ass with me (especially if I wasn't into it).
Later, he told people that, "Snarky is trying to get me to join his pedo-circle -- I'm really worried that he could get into trouble..." At the time, I was unaware that there were "pedo-circles," but the story, improbable as it was, stuck and then followed me to another office (brought over by a colleague that my new job wasn't going to hire, and only chose to do so on my recommendation --- "no good deed," as they say).
Later, I called my sociopathic friend on these stories, and he just laughed --- he didn't even bother to deny it.
But I was far from the only co-worker or friend he did this to. In fact, the better he liked you, the more likely you were to be targeted with his stories. (He's the wolf and everybody else is a sheep -- he almost said as much). He even tried to convince us that one of our female co-workers had given him herpes -- and we knew he wasn't sleeping with her.
What always amazed me was how somebody who "got around" as much as this man-slut did still had the time, energy and focus to spin such lascivious yarns as he did about so many people.
His veneer briefly cracked, one afternoon, when the girls brought a sheet-cake for his birthday (as happened a couple of times a month for our tiny worksite). The breakroom was infinitesimal, so the birthday-person would usually cut the cake, and people would grab a piece and scurry back to their office/cubicle. But when he was handed the dull cake-knife so he good do the deed, he walked across the 8x10 foot room towards the cake, and his hands started to shake violently... Everybody's eyes darted back and forth towards each other in silent shock: this swaggering, confident, snickering, skirt-chasing, socially-acceptable cock-of-the-walk suddenly felt so 'on-stage' (with very few people even around, the area was so small) to the point of spasming.
You'd have thought he was a shy, 11-year-old girl forced to get up in front of the entire school and give a speech.
You were left to assume he had a lot of things to hide, and inexplicably felt a strange, irrational sense of exposure. (His holding a knife made it even creepier).
I just hope he never molested his daughters.
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I'm on a roll today -- so maybe I'm about to die or something. I don't know...
I considered starting a thread on "Who likes you, and who doesn't?" because it's kind of fascinating. But I wasn't sure it would warrant an entire discussion...
But here goes --- I know that no group is a monolith, but my experience has shown that I tend to be "liked" by animals, small children of both genders, middle-aged and older women, and "normal" guys (who are bemused by my oddness, but seem to think I'm OK).
There are two demographic exceptions, those who do not like me: a). very young women, and b). flaming queens.
The problem with the young women is that I come off as "too nice" (not my Tellytalk image, I realize). I'm very attentive to what they say, try to take them seriously, and am very in-the-moment --- which seems to read as "weak" and potentially low-status for a male. I mean, like, a seething contempt kind of dislike. (Made worse if their boyfriends like me -- platonically and stuff). And I'm not being pandering or creepy with her. I promise.
I've had a few male friends, over the years, whose young girlfriends couldn't stand me (and were terribly unsubtle about it). One even telling her boyfriend, my roommate back in the day, after reviewing some moody, artful photos he took of me in a shadowy botanical garden, that, "Snarky is so stiff and self-conscious [in the pictures] it's disgusting..!" Which, fortunately, he later told me. I remained affable to her, as if I hadn't been told some of her comments, and that was probably a mistake. But I just didn't care (which is not to say I forgot it).
Later, this girlfriend came to our door and knocked, her dude hopped up to let her in, and when he opened the door, she looked inside the room, backed-off with an expression of performative revulsion, and ran away... She later told him that she heard us "throw something in a drawer" before opening up the door to let her in... She seemed to be implying some sort of vibratory device had been in use between the two of us... It later came out, as it were, that her roommate had made a lesbian pass at her, and it totally freaked the girlfriend out -- but I didn't buy it: she was resentful of my friendship with her boyfriend and complained that he "talked all the time" about me. (No, he didn't have a gay crush, but we could discuss things in the way you can with very few people when you're younger).
I was once informed, by a lesbian friend (another lesbian), that my problem with these young girls (with whom I had little connection to) was that I was "too nice" and that they "found (me) attractive." I was younger at the time, of course, and I love a good compliment like anybody else. But I thought my lesbian friend (who knew one of them) was nuts for analyzing it that way. I saw no evidence that they were interested in me at all, and their commentary about me (and their to-my-face reactions) never suggested that they thought I was "nice" at all.
The lesbian (as I will identify her henceforth) told me that I "don't understand anything about women," and I wasn't in the position to argue it, other than to counter by saying that, "I think they/she just can't stand me" if only because that explanation was simpler. And I could handle the insults. Although I was willing to acknowledge the girlfriend's possible jealousy over my benign, non-sexual relationship with her boyfriend.
As it was diagnosed to me, my offbeat, alert, harmless demeanor and self-deprecating humor hinted at low-stature to very young women, made more complicated if she found me attractive and her boyfriend liked me. Three strikes, I guess, and so the bitchery was almost unrestrained. (The older the couple, the older the girlfriend/wife, the less she has a problem with me -- unless, of course, the husband drinks too much around me; I bring it out in some guys).
So what is the issue with the flaming queens? (I never call them that to their faces, I again promise). They're a particular breed, and we don't feel as if we have much in common --- that's okay to me, but it's not always okay with them.
I'm older now, naturally. So some of this would be different -- but I've kind of opted out of the world and I recommend others do the same. (I've got to paint the damn house, though).
I swear this is innocent:
I considered starting a thread on "Who likes you, and who doesn't?" because it's kind of fascinating. But I wasn't sure it would warrant an entire discussion...
But here goes --- I know that no group is a monolith, but my experience has shown that I tend to be "liked" by animals, small children of both genders, middle-aged and older women, and "normal" guys (who are bemused by my oddness, but seem to think I'm OK).
There are two demographic exceptions, those who do not like me: a). very young women, and b). flaming queens.
The problem with the young women is that I come off as "too nice" (not my Tellytalk image, I realize). I'm very attentive to what they say, try to take them seriously, and am very in-the-moment --- which seems to read as "weak" and potentially low-status for a male. I mean, like, a seething contempt kind of dislike. (Made worse if their boyfriends like me -- platonically and stuff). And I'm not being pandering or creepy with her. I promise.
I've had a few male friends, over the years, whose young girlfriends couldn't stand me (and were terribly unsubtle about it). One even telling her boyfriend, my roommate back in the day, after reviewing some moody, artful photos he took of me in a shadowy botanical garden, that, "Snarky is so stiff and self-conscious [in the pictures] it's disgusting..!" Which, fortunately, he later told me. I remained affable to her, as if I hadn't been told some of her comments, and that was probably a mistake. But I just didn't care (which is not to say I forgot it).
Later, this girlfriend came to our door and knocked, her dude hopped up to let her in, and when he opened the door, she looked inside the room, backed-off with an expression of performative revulsion, and ran away... She later told him that she heard us "throw something in a drawer" before opening up the door to let her in... She seemed to be implying some sort of vibratory device had been in use between the two of us... It later came out, as it were, that her roommate had made a lesbian pass at her, and it totally freaked the girlfriend out -- but I didn't buy it: she was resentful of my friendship with her boyfriend and complained that he "talked all the time" about me. (No, he didn't have a gay crush, but we could discuss things in the way you can with very few people when you're younger).
I was once informed, by a lesbian friend (another lesbian), that my problem with these young girls (with whom I had little connection to) was that I was "too nice" and that they "found (me) attractive." I was younger at the time, of course, and I love a good compliment like anybody else. But I thought my lesbian friend (who knew one of them) was nuts for analyzing it that way. I saw no evidence that they were interested in me at all, and their commentary about me (and their to-my-face reactions) never suggested that they thought I was "nice" at all.
The lesbian (as I will identify her henceforth) told me that I "don't understand anything about women," and I wasn't in the position to argue it, other than to counter by saying that, "I think they/she just can't stand me" if only because that explanation was simpler. And I could handle the insults. Although I was willing to acknowledge the girlfriend's possible jealousy over my benign, non-sexual relationship with her boyfriend.
As it was diagnosed to me, my offbeat, alert, harmless demeanor and self-deprecating humor hinted at low-stature to very young women, made more complicated if she found me attractive and her boyfriend liked me. Three strikes, I guess, and so the bitchery was almost unrestrained. (The older the couple, the older the girlfriend/wife, the less she has a problem with me -- unless, of course, the husband drinks too much around me; I bring it out in some guys).
So what is the issue with the flaming queens? (I never call them that to their faces, I again promise). They're a particular breed, and we don't feel as if we have much in common --- that's okay to me, but it's not always okay with them.
I'm older now, naturally. So some of this would be different -- but I've kind of opted out of the world and I recommend others do the same. (I've got to paint the damn house, though).
I swear this is innocent:
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The worst thing I can think of that’s been said is that I always get scared and run away when things get tough, which isn’t entirely true. I was just running away from her at the time.
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Oh, she was criticizing you for dropping her? Calling you "scared" and prone to "running away" because of it??
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I’m trying to remember now. It was over 30 years ago but yes, something to that effect. In her defense I did have a penchant for running back then, kind of like Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride but not as creative if I had to make a comparison.
But sometimes it’s justified
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It sounds like she realized that she was the -- or a -- problem. But hoped you would tolerate it (or thought that you were obliged to) under the "nobody's perfect" banner.
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That I looked down at people when I idolized them and put them up on a pedestal and tried to help them.
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I've been accused of being too "alert" (even from people I barely know). Of making things seem "more real" by my mere physical presence, leading friends to believe I've picked up on things about them (which they may or may not want me to notice - often both) that I've sometimes missed entirely and I'm just sitting there obliviously picking my nose.
And it's a problem (not the nose-picking, as I try to avoid that in public) as I seem to make them feel more perceived than others do, which creates a dual reaction.
I had an excruciatingly-intelligent, older friend years ago who had a partner dying in D.C. and, for a couple of years, would drive and fly up every other weekend (while I did things for him back home -- various errands, taking his car to the shoppe, etc..) and, on the weekend he was home, he'd go out with me and hit the bars, and he'd talk and talk about his issues of the time... A year or two after his partner died, we were once again seated at a bar -- his Cutty Sark and lime in one hand, a cigarette in the other as always -- and he admitted that whenever he thought back about the blur of the era when his partner was dying (as he often did) the first image he always had was of me, even though we weren't technically around each other all that much because we were usually at work or he was on his way to-or-from D.C... He even pointed out that he had temporarily cut off all of his other friends during that period because although they would try to "help," they always wound up "making it all about themselves". I sighed and offered, philosophically, that, "Well... that's just how people are. Even if they mean well, they just kind of do that." To which he responded, looking me dead in the eye, "You didn't do that." Leaving me silent.
It seemed to be a compliment, but it's a double-edged one. I knew him well enough, and the way his mind worked, that he also resented the fact that I was a "better" friend to him than he knew he'd be to me were the circumstances flipped. (Which later proved to be true). I mean, he would also grumble that he was convinced his dead partner would never have reciprocated his efforts had their situation been flipped. (I don't know if that's accurate or not, because I never met his partner -- but it's the way my friend thought, mulling over things like that frequently).
But it led to the slow ending of our own relationship. By his own concession, I was a key reminder of that sad period he understandably wanted to get away from, and he would re-embrace those other friends he knew he couldn't rely on. Becoming a wee bit unnecessarily ugly in the way he pushed me out. He could control his other friends, believing -- probably correctly -- that their superficial kindness to him was a result of his clever day-to-day manipulations (hence, all ducks were in a row) but my behavior came from being "better" and it left him uncomfortable because it wasn't due to his manipulation (or, if it was, I was aware of it, and he was aware I was aware of it, and I didn't rebel against it).
Some people like you and dislike you for the same reason. They're drawn to you for the qualities they also can't handle. Respecting you makes them self-conscious, and you can't do a damned thing about it. He once described me, with a blend of contempt and amazement as "so phuckin' vulnerable!!" And nothing had happened... I mean, I don't weep at BAMBI... "Flamboyant but well-adjusted," was another one. (I'm not a flamer but prone to gesticulation).
But he was right out of MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD & EVIL in a way, a Tennessee Williams-esque Deep South character, perpetually with a cocktail and a Virginia Slim in both claws. Sly and reptilian with a whiff of gothicity. A bitchy wit. Ethanol and nicotine wafting out and encircling him at all times.
I hadn't seen nor spoken to him in nearly a decade when he died. But I seemed to experience some kind of "visitation" from him the day after he expired, although I wouldn't hear of his passing for another 15 months. Not that I really believe in stuff like that.
But I think of him fairly often, albeit with the requisite ambivalence. Both of us sidled up to a bar in a slightly sleazy location -- he to my left, always (the Devil's position), discussing the events of the world, popular culture, politics, human nature, etc.
Scorpio Rising, of course.
And it's a problem (not the nose-picking, as I try to avoid that in public) as I seem to make them feel more perceived than others do, which creates a dual reaction.
I had an excruciatingly-intelligent, older friend years ago who had a partner dying in D.C. and, for a couple of years, would drive and fly up every other weekend (while I did things for him back home -- various errands, taking his car to the shoppe, etc..) and, on the weekend he was home, he'd go out with me and hit the bars, and he'd talk and talk about his issues of the time... A year or two after his partner died, we were once again seated at a bar -- his Cutty Sark and lime in one hand, a cigarette in the other as always -- and he admitted that whenever he thought back about the blur of the era when his partner was dying (as he often did) the first image he always had was of me, even though we weren't technically around each other all that much because we were usually at work or he was on his way to-or-from D.C... He even pointed out that he had temporarily cut off all of his other friends during that period because although they would try to "help," they always wound up "making it all about themselves". I sighed and offered, philosophically, that, "Well... that's just how people are. Even if they mean well, they just kind of do that." To which he responded, looking me dead in the eye, "You didn't do that." Leaving me silent.
It seemed to be a compliment, but it's a double-edged one. I knew him well enough, and the way his mind worked, that he also resented the fact that I was a "better" friend to him than he knew he'd be to me were the circumstances flipped. (Which later proved to be true). I mean, he would also grumble that he was convinced his dead partner would never have reciprocated his efforts had their situation been flipped. (I don't know if that's accurate or not, because I never met his partner -- but it's the way my friend thought, mulling over things like that frequently).
But it led to the slow ending of our own relationship. By his own concession, I was a key reminder of that sad period he understandably wanted to get away from, and he would re-embrace those other friends he knew he couldn't rely on. Becoming a wee bit unnecessarily ugly in the way he pushed me out. He could control his other friends, believing -- probably correctly -- that their superficial kindness to him was a result of his clever day-to-day manipulations (hence, all ducks were in a row) but my behavior came from being "better" and it left him uncomfortable because it wasn't due to his manipulation (or, if it was, I was aware of it, and he was aware I was aware of it, and I didn't rebel against it).
Some people like you and dislike you for the same reason. They're drawn to you for the qualities they also can't handle. Respecting you makes them self-conscious, and you can't do a damned thing about it. He once described me, with a blend of contempt and amazement as "so phuckin' vulnerable!!" And nothing had happened... I mean, I don't weep at BAMBI... "Flamboyant but well-adjusted," was another one. (I'm not a flamer but prone to gesticulation).
But he was right out of MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD & EVIL in a way, a Tennessee Williams-esque Deep South character, perpetually with a cocktail and a Virginia Slim in both claws. Sly and reptilian with a whiff of gothicity. A bitchy wit. Ethanol and nicotine wafting out and encircling him at all times.
I hadn't seen nor spoken to him in nearly a decade when he died. But I seemed to experience some kind of "visitation" from him the day after he expired, although I wouldn't hear of his passing for another 15 months. Not that I really believe in stuff like that.
But I think of him fairly often, albeit with the requisite ambivalence. Both of us sidled up to a bar in a slightly sleazy location -- he to my left, always (the Devil's position), discussing the events of the world, popular culture, politics, human nature, etc.
Scorpio Rising, of course.
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