I Got A Concussion From Inviting My Boyfriend’s Ex To His Birthday Party


Speaking honestly, I have a huge problem with the girls that my current boyfriend has hooked up with before he met me. Not that there is anything necessarily wrong with them. But being the crazy girlfriend that I am, I have come to terms with the fact that it is natural for them to be on my shit-list. One specific girl always stood out in my eyes. Not for the reasons that you would expect — she has the body shape of one of the stars of Little Women: LA, probably styles herself off of the mannequins at Target, and if the carpet matched the drapes, has fire pubes. I discovered that she was special when my boyfriend prevented my from un-friending her off of his Facebook with the lame excuse, “but we’ve been friends since middle school.”

Turns out that fire pubes had been a part of the gang of misfits that he embarrassingly associated with until the middle of high school. She used the common connection of both knowing what each other looked used to look like with acne to get invited to his university parties, and eventually, get into his pants. Every time I tried to bring her up, like the prying bitch that I am, my boyfriend infuriatingly responded with the line, “I was blacked out, everyone makes mistakes.”

I was in charge of planning my boyfriend’s upcoming birthday. Since it was the first birthday of his I was planning as his girlfriend, I naturally had to go all out. After booking the club, booth, and bottle service, I wanted to secure a party bus. Since the party was scheduled for over a long weekend, some of his friends were out of town, and we didn’t have enough bodies to make the 50 people minimum. At the time, I was trying to be less selfish than usual, so before I decided to just fill up the remainder of the spots with girls from my sorority, I suggested my boyfriend invite some of his high school friends from out of town. Unfortunately, this meant that some of the misfits from his forgotten days were going to be in attendance. In a moment of weakness, I suggested that he invite Maggie* (obviously not her name), under the pretence that it wouldn’t be fair to invite the rest of his old friends ‘without her.’

A bit of backstory — Maggie had hooked up with my boyfriend last year at his birthday party. The next day, he was relieved to wake up alone, until he found her downstairs playing a game with his roommates. After a painful few hours of Monopoly, he asked if she wanted to go on a walk. While I’m sure she was expecting some scene out of a rom-com where he confessed the undying love that he had felt towards her for years, he used the walk as a private place to tell her that he “really wasn’t ready for a girlfriend” and “hoped that they could still be friends” after this “drunk mistake.” Obviously, she didn’t get the message, because two days later, she showed up at his door hoping to repeat the festivities. After a quick (and easy) lay, my boyfriend kindly repeated the same lame lines and added “gtfo.” A month later, he was dating me, and more than ready for a girlfriend.

I thought that inviting her to the anniversary of what I can assume was the last time she had sex was hilarious. It also gave me the perfect opportunity to see her in person, just to make sure that all the Facebook pictures I had seen of her simply weren’t just unflattering. Almost immediately after I had sent the invite from my boyfriend’s phone, she sent him a message: “Are you sure that things won’t be uncomfortable?” (ugh, so dramatic). I quickly responded back “It’ll be fun, don’t worry — (my name)” just to show (a) I was a super chill, basically perfect girlfriend (b) my boyfriend was so comfortable with me that I was able to answer his text messages. In reality, he was pissed with me but got over it quickly.

On the night of the party I spent hours getting ready. I had gone to the salon to get my hair and nails done, and hadn’t eaten anything more than lettuce for the past 48 hours so that I would look great in my new white body con dress that had some very revealing mesh areas. To my joy, she was one of the first people arrive. My boyfriend had run to the corner store to grab some chasers with a few friends, so it was just me and her. She was wearing a hand cut Jack Daniels shirt, old leggings, and hooker heels. Her makeup looked like the time that I was seven and my mother was out of town so my dad had to do my stage makeup for ballet. Not a pretty picture. I towered over her in triumph, noting that even every single one of my friends was taller, better dressed, and better looking than she was. She looked like someone had been roped into bringing their awkward middle school sister who still shopped at Hot Topic to a college party.

When my boyfriend walked through the door, she flung herself into his unsuspecting arms, planting a kiss nearly an inch away from his lips. Without even giving my boyfriend a second to process what just happened, I pinned him against the nearest wall and proceeded to jam my tongue down his throat until she wandered away. Unfortunately, her confidence and apparent disdain for me only continued to grow as she got progressively more drunk. I quickly realized that my boyfriend wasn’t the only target of her skanky ways. My friend almost threw a fit when she saw Maggie plop herself onto her boyfriend’s lap. She moved around the party like a troll, seemingly preying on anyone with a dick.

When we all boarded the party bus, Maggie decided to claim the stripper pole, unlike a seat, like the rest of us. The driver took a few sharp turns, probably offended to have the troll on his pole which usually would have been reserved for drunk, leggy blondes. Falling off of the pole, Maggie decided to do her signature move and sit on my boyfriend’s lap. Much like Regina George, I released my pent up anger in violent sports. Even after not playing rugby for a year, I knew how to move a bitch and before she had time to wiggle her ass, I had shoved her onto the floor. Obviously not understanding the hint (notice a pattern?) she took this as an opportunity to try to pull my boyfriend up onto the stripper pole with her. Thankfully, we were at the club, and no further violence needed to be taken.

I was banking on the fact that the club wouldn’t let her in, based off of the way that she was dressed, but somehow she found a way to worm her way into another place that she didn’t belong. I debated slipping the bouncer a $20 to stop her, but, I decided to be the better person. In all honestly, my boyfriend was piss drunk and enjoying his ‘bro time’ with guys he hadn’t seen in months. I was bored, relatively alone, and had always enjoyed a good fight. In the club, Maggie was relentless, grinding up against my boyfriend, trying to pull him off away from the crowd. When I went up to the bar to get myself a much-needed vodka cran, I saw from a distance as Maggie turned herself around, and attempt to grind with my drunk boyfriend from the front. As he tried to push her away, she just kept moving forward, until, like a classic villain, she had him cornered against a wall.

I wasn’t able to push my way through the throng of people fast enough. Fortunately, my BGF (big gay friend — think Cam from Modern Family), swooped in to save the rescue.

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, as Maggie hastily moved away from my nearly assaulted boyfriend, and retreated directly to me. Something had obviously happened in the past few seconds, as she had turned from a slutty drunk to a sappy one.

“Can we taaaaaalk? Let’s go to the bathroom and talk.” She pleaded, following me around with a change of heart and wanting to have a ‘girl talk.’

Maybe she wanted to apologize for being a huge skank. Maybe she wanted some advice on how to properly dress for a club. Maybe she wanted a threesome. It didn’t matter because I was done with her. What had started as a joke, something I had been hoping to tell my about friends over brunch the next day, had turned into something that was taking up far too much of my time. I dismissed her and was hoisted up onto a ledge to dance with a few friends. Maggie (again, not taking a hint) followed me, desperately trying to climb up after me.

Somewhere along her journey of trying to get up onto the ledge, she grabbed ahold of my ankle. Usually, I would have been able to steady myself, but due to the high number of vodka crans I had consumed, I fell five feet off of the ledge, directly onto the group. Immediately, my boyfriend and BFG were on either side of me. I was a mess, my white dress was filthy, I was sobbing and complaining that my head hurt. As I lied on the disgusting ground floor, I saw Maggie bend down beside me.

“Can we talk now?” She hissed, the alcohol on her breath making me nauseous.

I wobbly stood up, looked directly (down) at her, and responded, “what. The fuck. Is wrong with you?”

I don’t remember exactly what happened after that. My boyfriend said he took me home and proceeded to sit up with me the rest of the night, icing my head and trying to combat any signs of a concussion. By inviting my boyfriend’s ex hookup to his party, I had sustained a concussion, ruined my beautiful new white dress, endured emotional distress, and had to go to recruitment with purple bruises covering my legs. But I got the satisfaction of seeing her show up to a party in a hand cut shirt, and the knowledge that after we left, she got kicked out of the club, and went home with one of my boyfriend’s friends from his middle school gang (who never grew out of that phase). So was it worth it? Definitely.

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Hiding from my mother and standards, both of whom would disown me if they heard most of these stories. Aspiring law school student, with a chihuahua named Bruiser and a head of unnatural blonde hair. Email me your "crazy" stories or any mixed drink recipes that taste like juice, but have copious amounts of vodka in them at [email protected] Watch the bitch behind these stories at:

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