Tag Archives: Ex-boyfriend

Epilogue.

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“Oh. So, listen to this,” I said, as I tore off a piece of crust. I like to eat that part first.

“What?” asked Thalia.

It was Saturday night and she and Sean were over for one of our catch-ups. Usually I will (attempt to) cook on these nights but since I was still reeling from the previous week’s breakdown, we decided to just order in pizza.

“I was right.”

“Right about what?” asked Sean. He wasn’t looking at me and was engrossed in rolling his pizza slice into a manageable proportion.

“Right about Jonathan. He didn’t get back together with his ex-girlfriend after all.”

Continue reading Epilogue. →

Piece By Piece.

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I love working on this blog. I really do. Through this project, I’ve made new friends, strengthened relationships I already had and made contact with people all over the world. My life has been enriched in ways I never could have imagined.

I consider it one of my greatest achievements.

But one of the challenges of writing this blog, is that if I’m going through something particularly painful, because I write in real time – I have to publish it right away. I’ve found that if I hold onto posts, they start to clack around louder and louder in my head and it makes it harder for me to move past the situation. That is the reason I posted three times back to back last week. The situation with Jonathan was difficult for me and I knew if I tried to stagger the posts, it would make it very hard to let go of it and move on. That is also is the reason why I am posting this today. I’d rather not think about that night anymore.
Continue reading Piece By Piece. →

Hurricane Crazy.

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I must have stared at that damn text for three minutes.

At first I thought it must have been from someone else and I’d clicked on it, mistakenly thinking it was from him.

But after blinking at it and staring at it until the message started to blur, it sunk in that yes, it really was from Jonathan. Saying he was getting back together with his ex-girlfriend.
Continue reading Hurricane Crazy. →

90 Days. Part Three.

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I’d always had a vision of how it would play out when I’d meet him face to face. I’d be looking fabulous, perhaps in a pair of tiny black leather shorts, a fitted top that showed a hint of cleavage, yet was still classy, and to-die-for overpriced heels. My legs would be firm, tan and stubble-free. My hair would be long and blowing around me like a Clairol commercial. My makeup would accentuate my features to the most alluring degree but not be overbearing or garish. My nails would do Lux proud. I’d strut over to him to the tune of Christina Aguilera’s ‘Fighter’ and I would get in his face and say everything I’d ever wanted to say.

I’d make him admit the truth. Finally.

As Christina sang out, “Thought I would forget, but I remember. Yes, I remember, I’ll remember!” I’d turn on my stiletto heel and leave him in a puddling mess of his own tears.

As it turns out, it didn’t go as planned.

Continue reading 90 Days. Part Three. →

90 Days. Part One.

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I was running late for work. Normally, I don’t worry too much about this because:  1) I always seem to arrive before my bosses, and:  2) I’m not entirely sure my bosses actually know what my hours are.

But as I left my apartment that morning, I got a little worried. Continue reading 90 Days. Part One. →

Ten Days.

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My first date with Bradley was on a Monday. That Thursday he followed up to see when we could get together again. He gave me three options: Brunch that Saturday Day, Drinks that Saturday Night or Brunch that Sunday Day.

I declined all three. Continue reading Ten Days. →

My Ex Has Been Reading My Blog.

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“Are you sure you aren’t using this as an excuse to contact him?” Veronica asked. We were having our usual Sunday phone chat, where it was early afternoon for her in Portland so she was getting ready for CrossFit and it was late afternoon for me in New York so I was getting ready for the workweek ahead.

“I…,” I had to stop and think about that. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” she said warily.

“No,” I said with more assurance, as I filled my Monday through Friday vitamin packets. “I’m not. I have to tell him. If he hears I’m writing about him from someone else, he’ll be really pissed.”

“Well, let me know how it goes,” she said.

“I will.”

In all honesty, he would probably be pissed regardless. My Ex is the most private person I’ve ever known. He doesn’t even post things about himself on Facebook. It’s either about his band or some sort of informed political rant. Meanwhile, I’m like, “Hi everybody! Now I’m chewing blue gum!” Continue reading My Ex Has Been Reading My Blog. →

Zeke Comes to Visit. Part One.

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Zeke showed up in my doorway with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a Starbucks coffee in his hand, after having made the long drive from Boston to NYC. There were many times over the years when Zeke had been on the East Coast for work but had never come to see me. This had caused many of our arguments. But a few days ago he’d announced an impromptu visit for this weekend. I had a sneaking suspicion this decision was not a result of him suddenly wanting to see the sites of New York or even to see me really. I had a feeling this was mostly because he was a little worried about my current state of mind. He knew this was the weekend My Ex had been scheduled to come out from California. That trip had been cancelled, of course. And although I’d told him I was doing FINE, he’d still insisted on coming out. Continue reading Zeke Comes to Visit. Part One. →

When life gives you lemons, send that shit back and demand champagne.

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“I’m sorry I drunk texted you all night last night.”

“Trace? What the hell time is it?”

“Um, ten o’clock here so I guess seven o’clock there?”

“Trace, I don’t care if you drunk text me all night. Drunk text all you want but don’t call me at seven in the morning on a Saturday and wake me up to apologize for it.”

“Okay, um… But do you still have an OkCupid profile?”

“Oh shit, okay. I can see you’re not going to go away. Hold on.” I could hear Zeke pull himself out of bed and move to the bathroom. He clicked the door shut. Then he reemerged and I heard the familiar flick of a lighter to light his cigarette. “Alright, what’s going on?”
Continue reading When life gives you lemons, send that shit back and demand champagne. →