Disclaimer: Yeah, it’s been a few months since I’ve posted so my Ticonderoga’s a little rusty – but here goes:
Let me start out by wishing Mr. Ex-Boyfriend a hale and hearty CONGRATULATIONS! on his recent nuptials. I’m happy report that I was drinking beer, noshing on (among other things) a deconstructed BLT and ceviche in pureed avocado and making friends with a KC Roller Derby chick and a couple from Boston whilst he was saying “I Do” to the new Mrs. Ex. It does my heart good to know that it only took him 18 months to locate, woo, propose to and marry the (new) woman of his dreams. Yeah. This is what I get for violating the Fist Commandment of Facebook:
Thou shalt not lurk on thy Ex’s Facebook page,
no matter how utterly public his site is.
Lest you think I’m bitter, let me assure you I’m not. I’m in a good relationship with Mr. 2.0 and I’m damn sure he’s not cheating on me. We like the same things, listen to the same music and have more things in common than Mr. Ex and I ever did. It’s just that I’m competitive and have this freaky little quirk where I want to excel at everything. Apparently I didn’t shine too brightly with Mr. Ex or he wouldn’t have seen fit to be a serial philanderer.
Yeah I know. I’ve heard it over and over: “It wasn’t about you. It was about his weakness (or his addiction, his lack of self-control, his inability to express negative emotions)” Blah, blah, blah. When it happens to you, it’s personal, baby.
He still sends me a card for my birthday, you know. This year, instead of immediately throwing it into the trash with the onion skins and potato peels and used Oil of Olay face Cloths, I actually read it – a semi-religious tome to a special person on their special day! His handwritten message indicated that he still thinks I’m special.
Damn right I’m special.
So now I have Mr. 2.0. He doesn’t cheat on me or keep things from me or bury his feelings under a Happy Face veneer of denial. We laugh and cry and tell each other the hard truths about ourselves. No, I won’t marry Mr. 2.0 either – just like I wouldn’t marry Mr. Ex. My marrying days are over and apparently it’s something I’m not very good at. And if I can’t excel at it… well, you know the rest.
You know, I think we’re both going to be very, very happy.