The big time.
The 78th annual Strawberry Hill horse races took place this weekend. It is one of my all-time favorite [tailgating] events of the year. The day-long lush fest is our little southern town’s tribute to the Kentucky Derby – in simple terms…if Strawberry Hill were a prescription pill, it’d be the generic brand of the real deal. And I love the watered down version just the same.
I typically spend an embarrassing amount of time plotting out my frock, acquiring the accompanying comfortable heels with still a scoach of fashion, and lovely accenting accessories. But not this time – this time I waited until the last minute, which is a reflection of how crazy my life feels these days.
Thankfully I found a halter top, A-line, polka dot dress that fit the traditional theme and even managed to pull off a floppy hat to boot.
Despite the fact I was among 17,000 other tailgaters…I still managed to run into my ex, Mr. Ex.
Before the day kicked off, I asked pleaded with my closest comrades to wear their proverbial straightjackets, “Please. No drama. No cussing out. No dagger eyes. Our collective reaction will be no reaction. OK?”
Most agreed, with just one potential exception, “I can’t make any promises, depends on the amount of alcohol I’ve had during shoulder rubbing.”
When all was said and done, only one verbal interaction occurred with an attending amiga – it was between my living quarters companion and him, who are now retired friends. From what I gathered, she told him she was “disappointed” in him [the D word is probably the absolute worst word you could use in my personal opinion] and that he lost the greatest thing that would ever happen to him. Yowzers. That is a very nice compliment. Whether or not I can own that title, I will not argue that I added value to the boy’s bubble.
While walking to a gal pal’s plot, about ¾ of the way through the day with no sign of Him so far, I inevitably spotted a group of his friends. I halted to say hello and within 90 seconds, there he was in the circle. Luckily I had consumed a solid 8 Jello shooters and several vodka-sodas in my belly that the initial interaction was coated in a very subtle alcohol-induced numbness. The kind where you’re totally coherent, still articulate and aware of immediate surroundings, but somehow able to cope with circumstances to the likes of Wonder Woman.
I was introduced to one of his [girl] friends who I had seen numerous times in pictures but never met. The truth is – I speculated deep down that there had been *something* going on between them in the past. But after meeting her, I can see that that probably wasn’t the case, and just my own underlying insecurity about my unoccupied place in his pants.
Next thing I know the 3 of us are taking back fruity shots from plastic Dixie cups. I don’t know how it happened and certainly didn’t foresee that being the situation ahead of time, but when the air is sticky, you’re standing in front of the person who broke your heart, and bottles of Absolut are within reach – it’s just what you do. You take the shot.
Then we had a little side chat. The dialogue details are foggy – yet I do vividly remember that the surrounding crowd around us seemingly disappeared…while we were talking for those few minutes, it was only him & I. But everything had already been said before this moment; The apologies. The regrets. The mistakes. The aching. The missing. It sorta reminds me of this scene sequence from Sex & the City.
There is no question I’ll always love the man. He is my Titanic after all. But I’m afraid I love the man I wished he could be. No matter how hard I tried to keep that boat afloat, it was destined to sink.
Ex feet under.
My life continually manifests through themes. Well this last week has distinctly been focused on former flings.
First up is the Quarterback. During my 30-day dating binge in November, QB was the only one who I had any kind of quasi history with, so was consequently the only guy I shared full disclosure regarding my Mr. Big reunion. He handled my early retirement incredibly well and wished me good luck to boot. Since then we’ve kept in touch by way of texting and turns out he really, really wanted the borrowed orange Banana Republic tee back in his possession. Some people in my circle speculated he just wanted a reason to see me; I however wasn’t convinced that was the case. So I finally arranged for us to meet up on neutral territory last Thursday – the gym. Although our electronic demeanor was friendly and upbeat, the same tone didn’t quite translate in-person.
Through our prior sporadic messaging I had mentioned my 10K training* (I use that term* very loosely), knowing he’d appreciate it considering I’ve always been an anti-runner and he is an avid pavement pounder. So we chatted at the end of our individual workouts for maybe 90 seconds about my pathetic knees and amateur-level endurance, I handed him the returned apparel in a Target bag, and we said good-bye, sans hug. That aspect is what left me feeling luke warm about the experience, but considering we were both covered in sweat, any embrace probably would have been sticky…literally & metaphorically.
While retelling this same story to a good girl friend of mine the other day (who had met him on two occasions), she explained that right after my sudden and indefinite breakup from dating, QB searched for, found & contacted her through Facebook, asking if she could “somehow do something – I really like her.” That news threw me off. Not only that it was unexpected he’d reached out to my comrade for back-up reinforcement, but sweet he thought she could somehow impact my decision to date him. Well she obviously never attempted to do anything, let alone even tell me he did that, knowing I was focused on attempting to fix things with Mr. Big.
Next in the valiant recasting line-up has been the Artist. We never actually met in person (I had canceled our date due to unforeseen circumstances aka being swept away in a surprise limo excursion), but had i-chatted over Gmail. Ever since I told him I was getting off the singles market, he has texted a few times. The last “check in” I candidly explained that I’ve officially reunited with a former long-term relationship. Well the other day while signed in to check my email, he must have seen my screen name & started typing away. I’ve now set my account to invisible.
Then I got a friend request complemented by an email through Facebook from another guy (never even nicknamed him, that’s how insignificant he was at the time). “I don’t know why but something compelled me to search for you on here. Since I found you, figured I’d reach out and see how you’re doing.” Ugh, this is a classic example of the love/hate relationship I have with the World Wide Web. I wrote back a very brief response, purposefully not asking him any questions in hopes of not starting a running dialogue. But of course, he did anyway, “Well to tell you what I’ve been up to…”
An incredibly creepy guy from The Match also contacted me through my personal, private page – I never responded to his (multiple) winks or email requests on the actual dating site, so why does he think it’d somehow work on a social networking site? First a poke, then a friend request. Negative, Creepy McCreeperson.
Finally, Hokie and I have had a limited handful of communication over the last 6 months, most recently thru an evite to a fundraising event he is hosting. We ended on friendly terms over the summer so I have absolutely no issue with supporting a cause important to him in a public forum. Then just yesterday I noticed he mentioned my company’s #1 competitor in his Facebook status with regards to his dog. I commented and suggested using our products instead. Next thing I know, a text message is coming through asking what I’m up to. In the middle of a business day, I respond “at work” to which a quick reply reads, “Oh MaryB…I heart you.”
- Lesson #1: If you participate in and/or open up communication with a former fling – they may very well take that as an opportunity to reengage. Even if you’re innocently being friendly and talking on equal playing fields, its best to just zip the lip. You think the past is buried six feet under, when in fact, exs notoriously try to come back from the dead.
- Lesson #2: Even though you’ve disabled an online dating profile and canceled membership from Match.com months ago, don’t think you’re in the clear. They will find you.
- Lesson #3: You will begin to resent Facebook.
- Lesson #4: Despite that you’ve told ex manfriends you’re solely dating another ex manfriend, they don’t necessarily take that as truth. Or maybe they just don’t care. Be aware of their “next at bat” stance in case “at bat man” doesn’t hit a homerun.
- Lesson #5: Even with your best effort, you’ll still likely manage to handle run-ins with past potential partners over par.
The original subject matter and intended climax of this blog post was going to be based around the age-old dispute, “Can you be friends with an ex?” But apparently… I’ve just answered my own question.
Back from the dead.
So I’ve been knee deep in husband shopping, minding my own business, dating as if I’m on payroll. Then wake up from a very, very late night at a dear friend’s wedding reception over the weekend…when Mr. Ex pops up on my Palm’s 2”x2” screen. He asked to please talk at my convenience, in person. Within minutes, my only sister by blood tells me Mr. Ex has reached out to her too, hoping to talk. Suddenly I feel like the stereotypical guy who hears the “T” word and freezes.
I’m immediately taken back to a season six scene in Sex & The City where Carrie is moving on with her love life and Mr. Big tries to come back. She has a compelling and passionate monologue right before she’s moving to Paris with her new Love-ah Aleksandr, and candidly tells him, “You do this every time! *Every* time! What? Do you have some sort of radar? Carrie might be happy - it’s time to sweep in and shit all over it? Oh, it’s never different! It’s six years of *never* being different! This is it! I am done! Don’t call me ever again! Forget you know my number! In fact, forget you know my name! And you can drive up this street all you want - because I don’t live here any more.”
It has been exactly one year since I joined the single ladies club. Him and I had been dating on and off for 70% of the last decade, and the past dozen months have been our longest stretch of separation. In order to embrace the new chapter of my life sans Mr. Ex (formerly ‘Mr. Big’ before the breakup), I decided to treat the relationship’s ending as a death. It was the only way I could conceive of moving forward and not emotionally live in limbo until our next inevitable reunion. Literally I envisioned our courtship as a body that had been on life support at the very end, the plug was pulled, and there was no bringing it back. “We” died and it was time to mourn and move on.
I’ve changed, grown, healed, and had a metamorphosis of my own in 2009. I’m certain that he too along the way has also undergone a transformation.
Someone asked me recently if Carrie and Mr. Big had not gotten married, do I think she would have ever gotten over him. My answer was no. Yes she would have found someone else (an Aiden) who made her happy, but there would always be a piece of her heart that belonged to him.
Although it is a bit silly, and equally eerie, how much my relationship has meticulously mirrored this HBO-scripted show [he is even mentioned in my blog’s bio for goodness sake] I can’t deny that after seeing the movie & the couple finally moving forward to marriage on their own terms, that I too thought maybe our reality would continue to mimic the plot. But I have never been one to dream in a clouded Disney cartoon fantasy frame of mind. In fact, I often see the world through black and white vision. Yet, I’m also someone who is a colorful, hopeless romantic and appreciates another quote of CB, “It wasn’t logic, it was love.”
Without naming names, and if they weren’t subject to a jail sentence, there are friends of mine who would scalp the guy with their own bare hands for his stunts. Not to mention a family who exhausted their patience and respect of our roller coaster ride, and would have to dig deep inside for forgiveness. So to even consider bringing something back from the dead that is buried 6 feet under is beyond my understanding.
And at the same time I also can’t begin to articulate, comprehend or explain the magnetic fields, a fundamental law of attraction that exists between us. I’ve never in all my life felt someone’s soul, their actual presence, touch mine. Without a shadow of doubt I believe our purpose in each others walk on earth is much larger and purposeful than what my simple mind can fathom.
In the past, I was a moth. I was a character in my own life. Now I sport a butterfly outfit and wear the director’s hat. But he is still my flame.
I’m meeting Mr. Ex tonight with no agenda, no preconceived notions, no motive. My heart and I are going with a clean slate onto the next scene.
