The Fight: NRA Guy might have all the guns, but I'm holding the ammo

So NRA Guy called the other night, and, through a short series of random little innocent mini-topics, he picked up on my unhappiness with him. He wanted to talk about it on the phone, but I told him I’d rather come over (so as to avoid the possibility of anything getting blown out of proportion).

How about I break down the conversation about New Year’s for you?

- Some of his friends apparently bitched him out all the way to their destination because he hadn’t invited me. (Yay for these friends I haven’t even met!)

- He knew I was upset when we talked New Year's Day, so he got off the phone as quickly as possible. (Boo.)

- I mainly focused on my displeasure that he didn’t call. I laid out my argument that we’d been together or in contact daily for the past couple weeks (mostly his doing), and this sudden change in behavior on New Year’s was not something that made me happy.

- After much demanding on my part, he countered that I was the one dating other people and who had kept him at a distance.

- I counter-countered(??) that he knew I was no longer seeing anyone else and that the daily face and/or phone time meant, basically, “What distance?”

- He said he didn’t think he was ready for me to see him at his craziest and drunkest with all his friends.

- I concurred that I probably wasn’t.

- I agreed that, although I was slightly affected by the lack of invitation, I was more inclined to think that the setting wasn’t right for me to meet all his friends and see him at his drunkest and him see me at my drunkest (and to be captive there and dependent on him for a ride home, which, actually, I didn’t mention but which definitely factor into the equation).

- Best Buddy (the one I met) apparently ran interference all night. Any time NRA talked to a girl, Best Buddy came up to say, “You know NRA has a girlfriend now, don’t you?” (Yay, Best Buddy! … Even though I take issue with the ‘girlfriend’ label without having the DTR, this pleased me.)

- He apologized for not calling, eventually, after a great deal of offering lame non-excuses and much insisting that I couldn’t be “that mad,” since I’m not his girlfriend.

- I let him know that I considered myself “appropriately miffed” at the situation. I came to his house to talk about it; he would’ve had to track me down to ever talk to me again if I was his girlfriend and he blew me off on New Year’s Eve. I wasn’t yelling or being irrational or mean or accusatory; although he kept saying, “Nothing happened, I promise,” I repeatedly informed him that I wasn’t concerned that he’d been with another woman.

And, finally, after I felt we’d talked through it all enough and he’d groveled enough, I told him I accepted his apology and that he needn’t keep telling me he was sorry. We dropped it, moved on, and got comfortably cuddly.

And that, friends, is what led to the actual fight.

The short version is that his knee was obviously hurt, and when I asked him about it, he denied anything was wrong. Repeatedly. For an extended period of time. When he finally admitted the knee was hurt, I was reminded that he “can’t remember” what he told Best Buddy regarding how we met. I told him that if he lies to Best Buddy, I have to assume he’ll lie to anyone. This is a guy he talks to four or five times a day. They know damn-near everything about one another. But NRA lies to him about how we met? What’s to say he isn’t lying to me about things?

NRA was very quiet during all of this bitching on my part. He refused to offer anything to this portion of the conversation. He just kept trying every once in a while to distract me in some way. Finally he said he wouldn’t lie to me. That he doesn’t lie to me. I was too exhausted to keep it up at that point, so I let it go, telling him not to fucking lie to me. Ever. I hate lies.

We left on decent, if somewhat tense, terms. I invited him to dinner the next night, partially because the Roommate suggested it and partially because I felt bad for bitching him out all night.

Yeah, that’s right, I felt bad. I’m a freakin’ sap, apparently*.

To be continued…

* If you don’t agree that I'm a sap at this point, you will after the next entry. Of that, you can be certain.