this past weekend, at Chez i'm-gonna-stab-you-in-the-eye-if-you-don't-stop-
talking-oh-say,-right--this-fucking-minute, there were a few moments where i thought my most recent post might be my last, because i'm pretty sure they don't let you blog from deathrow, although i could be wrong because this is california.
then i got to thinking about how deathrow might not be that bad, because shirley bellinger got to knit right up until they snapped her little neck. and lord knows that's a lifestyle i could get behind.
anyway, friday night i went to the drinking place (TheKennedy was in attendance) and i escaped after only one drink. here's the tradeoff- the work friend with whom i was talking, that sly minx, hugged him on his way out, creating tear in the space time continuum allowing for my immediate transport to that delightfully awkward place where it only becomes more obvious that i want to sniff him if i don't hug him like she did. minx.
and i had my giant bag, and you can't just put down a giant bag in a bar, so i hugged him from a strange angle that forced his arm to graze my boobs (unintentional!) and then drove home in a panic, trying desperately to smell myself as if i were a stranger. what do i smell like at 8pm on a friday?
the people in traffic next to me must have thought i was having a seizure as i tried to watch the road from the inside of my own armpit. not surprisingly, i still smell like cookies... and silent suffering. which, incidentally, smells like cookies. we've come full circle, and all is well.
upon my arrival at home, exBoy was out. when i traveled back in internet time (via the underused ALT+H command), i discovered his recent re-sign-uptitude (shut it) to matchdotcom. this was something i was expecting, despite his lingering advances, but i wasn't excited to see that his profile is, in summary, looking for (and quite specifically) exactly what i am not. or that his profile picture is way unflattering. because that's a reflection on me too, you know! i spent the last three years with you, buddy! pull it together!
and gradually suddenly i realized i find it rather embarrassing that i allowed this to go on as long as it did. who is this person? and more frighteningly, who was i? how could i be even remotely shocked to see his attempts at playing both sides after all this time?
i suppose this new information, coupled with the giddiness surrounding the evening's earlier bodily contact did little to aid in my receptiveness to exBoy's encroaching on my space, but when he got back, the tiny orchestra in my head (formal attire required!) started in with a little flight of the valkyries and the application of red paint to the nipples (i said it was formal, don't act all surprised) and i so knew.
it was on.
he promptly started with the constant needling, and i got worked up, as i tend to do, because i can't seem to understand how one person could be so simultaneously arrogant, conniving, manipulative and absolutely fucking retarded (no offense). it's like magic- he's david blaine, but even more pointless. how is that even possible???? his final trick is disappearing all the good memories, one by one.
either way, i made myself feel better. he went out for a ride, and i taped over all his amateur porn vidoes with footage of my cats doing cat things, like eating, and chewing his speaker wires, and licking their own buttholes.