October is weird
October is a strange time in my life. Last year, I was in Ohio, hanging out, alternatively, in the projects and subdivisions of Columbus, Ohio trying to convince people that it wasn’t a waste of time to go out to the polls. It was.
I am not running for office in 2006. Sometimes my enthusiasm gets carried away. I wouldn’t have anything to wear.
So that was a horrible October. This past weekend (and don’t ask me how I remember dates like this; I still remember my best friend from kindergarten’s birthday, etc.) also marks the glorious two-year anniversary of getting my hair chopped off and dumping the fuck out of people that needed to be dumped the fuck out of.
My friend Jessica has recently ended her relationship with her boyfriend, and I was commenting that every once in a while I think about what it would be like if I were still dating some of my exes. Hmm, that doesn’t really express it – rather kind of experiencing what one isolated day of that relationship might be like if it were updated to today. Like if Roland and I wandered around Venice, watched Italian soft-core on free TV, and ate heaps of pasta at 24 instead of 20.
Right, what am I saying? I suppose that every once in a while I wax nostalgic about the good old days, even though I know that no amount of Rolando’s just incredibly hot London accent would make us be good partners. BUT! – and here’s the point of this poorly-expressed prose – I really just don’t have any nostalgia towards one of them at all.
The best I’ve got is the night I took him to Aquavit, but any feelings there are toward the amazingly decadent food. Other than that, it’s all crazy, all the time. Although other relationships ended because they needed to
end, that’s the only one I look at and think, “Holy shit, you lucky heifer, you really dodged a bullet there.”
I’ve been thinking about this, I suppose, because my friend Tom just told me a story about his ex-wife, whose new husband has just caught her faking both a 700,000 thousand dollar lawsuit against a former employer for sexual harassment (the suit doesn’t exist) and… wait for it… cancer for the last 4 ½ years.
She’d been putting hair remover in her shampoo and taking ipecac. And all I can think of is Crazy faking a concussion because I was hanging out in the front room with a friend. Actually, as insane as it was, I kind of love that story. Every time someone says, “You won’t believe what my ex used to do,” I say, “I once heard a thud in the bedroom and it was by boyfriend faking a collapse and a concussion because I wasn’t paying attention to him. But I didn’t find out about his ‘condition’ until hours later because I didn’t even go check on him by that point in the relationship. And I just told him to go to sleep when he was describing his ‘symptoms’ because he faked stupid crap so often.”
With the exception of Tom, I always get to win. I wonder if it would have come to things like Tom’s wife, though, somewhere down the line.
Chris, you shared the house with the “boyfriend of dubious morality,” do you remember any good times? Besides the time he locked you out and you got to vent your righteous anger? Am I deliberately forgetting anything truly romantic and amazing?
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