Where are they now?

Mark

Light Facebook stalking years ago revealed that he is married. She's not as pretty as me. Talk about wasted tears. At least I got a blog out of it.

Conor

Conor sent me a text back in April late one night. He told me he inherited a lot of money and was now independently wealthy but didn't want to tell anyone. He fished around as to whether I had a boyfriend. When I said I did, he stopped responding. He's had the same girlfriend for about 3 years.

Adam

Facebook had the last laugh.

Jack

Jack contacted me once via LinkedIn. Unfortunately I was in a really horrible place, so I sent him a weird response (i.e. "I'm good! I followed your advice, but I got laid off! And now I have cancer!"). Naturally he never responded. Nor did he follow through on any of my LinkedIn connections for a job. I have since deleted him from LinkedIn.

The Musician

Abraham and I went to go see his band last week. On the way there I was like, "Uh, so you should know that five years ago I went on two dates with one of the band mates."

I couldn't tell if Abraham was jealous or not. I thought he may have been since he told our entire party, including people I've never met, that I went out with the Musician. But on the other hand, the band seemed a little sadder this time. Five years ago the band mates were in their twenties. Now they're in their thirties, still working their day jobs as servers and still playing the same songs at the same venues. Five years later and they are no more popular. Nothing has changed for them except for their receding hair lines.

I don't know if The Musician recognized me or not. I've changed a lot since then.

S

Several months ago S' step-mom phoned me. S was back in jail.

"When was he in jail?" I asked.

Apparently he was sentenced to several months in jail for beating up yet another girlfriend. And he was being ordered back in for violating his probation and appearing in front of the judge drunk.

Christopher

Christopher. I don't know if he sold his email address or joined some marketing strategy, but I started getting those horrible, spammy emails from his address. The ones with a single link to Canadian Viagra.

I reported that his email address was hacked. I still got the emails. I sent him three emails kindly telling him to change his password. I still got the emails. So then I blocked him.

Valentine's Day he sent me a friend request on Facebook. I had deleted him after I dumped him years ago. I accepted and now he stalks from afar. LinkedIn reported a few months ago that he is now living in Illinois, so y'all are on notice.

Valdosta

I never heard from him since the night he dumped me. I've never looked him up. I don't want to know anything because I don't want to be sad. He will have to remain a mystery.

The Hungarian 

The Hungarian tried to have sex with me on our last date. I turned him down cold. I never heard from him again. Funny thing, it took me about 2 months to realize it.

Clemson

No one has seen or heard from him in about a year. I've been tempted to send him a text to make sure he is alive, but it's not my place.

Statham

Statham now lives with the ex-girlfriend, who is no longer an ex. They came out to Abraham's tailgate about a month ago and we were all drinking together. She didn't speak to me, but Statham was his usual friendly self to Abraham and me. Everybody acted like nothing ever happened.

Hodgepodge

I've got nothing going on right now. No crushes, no gentlemen upon which to shower my flirtations. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

***

I've seen Nameless Teammate around a few times. I pretend he doesn't exist and he returns the favor. I'm okay with that arrangement. But I did see him out at the bar Friday night. He was wearing pajama pants. At the bar. On a Friday night. I quickly admonished myself for ever taking to heart what he said to me.

***

Statham has somehow resurfaced. We were both at Screen on the Green a couple of weeks ago and he laid his blanket down in front of mine. He turned around and said hello. I was shocked he spoke to me. He had fallen so far off my radar that I forgot he even existed and that we had shared the sex.

He started showing up on my Facebook profile. This isn't an exact science, but the people who tend to show up on the top of my friends list on my profile page are the people with whom I most often interact. Then one day his tiny head appeared in that list and remained there for weeks, which I can only deduce that he's been active on my page.

And then the e-mails started. He wants to go running with me. I turned him down. He invited me again. I turned him down again. Then he made a Facebook event to go running and I respond with maybe, to which I get another e-mail inquiring about my maybe followed by this: ...but I see you're going to [Statham's good friend's] party the night before.... Dude knows my whereabouts.

Saturday night, I was standing in his good friend's kitchen when this text came through: Hi! Looking forward to running tomorrow...  His (ex)girlfriend was standing not 10 feet from me. (Incidentally, I hadn't seen them out at the same time in about a month.)

When I got home, I unzipped my romper and stared at my phone incredulously. Statham treated me like garbage. Had he somehow suffered an aneurysm and forgotten? I hadn't. I began typing.

I'm really tired and am looking forward to getting a good night's sleep. Count me out tomorrow morning.

***

Conor began texting me out of the blue one night. I hadn't heard from my old friend/ex in 9 months. At the end of the conversation, he reiterated that I was the best he ever had. Yup, some things never change.

***

With the absence of boys to flirt with and the hiatus between kickball seasons, I began filling my calendar elsewhere. I dropped in a boot camp one morning. I picked running back up again. I went tubing down the river. I tried out a CrossFit class. I joined the circus for an evening and learned to walk across a tightrope, shimmy up a Spanish web and swing on a trapeze.

While I learned that I have the right attitude and am willing to take myself out of my comfort zone, I also learned that I am not athletically talented. The boot camp instructor saw the color of my face and asked me if I felt light-headed and would I like to sit out the next exercise. "Just because we're hollering at you doesn't mean you have to do it," she told me. I must have really looked a mess. On the trapeze, I was the only person to fall off while hanging upside down.

Sports have taught me the art of forgiveness. Every day I have to forgive myself for not being as good as I want to be. It's okay that I can't do the 21/15/9 push ups. I have to start at whatever I can do and improve upon that. Every day. Forgive myself every day and try to do better every day.

It makes me wonder in what other areas of my life do I need to forgive myself.

The Re-Fella-ing

Last week Christopher was re-united with my college drinking buddies for the first time since 2006. Conor's band was playing at a local brewery in the city and Christopher and I had already started a Friday happy-hour tour of local breweries. It was a chance to cross another one off the list.

When Christopher walked out of his building. I sucked in my breath. He was wearing his white button-down, the one I told him weeks ago I thought made him look sexy as hell, but haven't seen in 3 years. I quickly told myself that this was just coincidence. But in the car he told me he wore it for me. I was surprised because Christopher doesn't give himself away. He keeps his feelings tight, still holding onto his facade. And I still have difficulty deciphering that facade between what he is trying to project and what he is trying to protect.

Christopher with his impeccable memory remembers that Conor is my ex—even though I purposely left that detail out this time around—and on the drive there he whined, "But you had sex with him!"

"It was like 8 years ago! It doesn't count if it was like 8 years ago!" I tried to calm him down. Seriously, there are no residual feelings of any kind from me to Conor. It was so long ago, and I was in such a different place in my life then, that I have a hard time even remembering it. It's like reading it in a book and knowing it happened, but not having any personal feeling or association with it. History.

"Yes, it does!" he argued back.

"We were only together like 5 months at most!" I said, trying a different tactic.

Christopher did some mental calculating from something else I must have said. "That means you had sex with him like 20 times," he huffed.

I'm a little surprised Christopher is coming from this angle. If he knew how much I liked him, it wouldn't be an issue, but then again, if he knew how much I liked him, he might run away scared. Besides, because Christopher never reveals how he feels, I assume it's not much more than casual because that's what he's been projecting.

And on perfect timing, my phone rings and it's Conor. He has one spot left on the band's list and would I like it? I ask if he has room for my "plus one" and Christopher rolls his eyes at the mention of being a plus one. He doesn't know that this is just how we talk to each other. Conor doesn't have room for my now-annoyed plus one and he begins trying to spell my name purposely unsuccessfully. I laugh. Because the only things Conor has going for him these days is his sense of humor and his music.

Christopher asks for a play-by-play of the conversation. He's still apprehensive.

"What if I told you Conor has the smallest penis I've ever seen in my life. Would that make you feel better?" I'm desperate for this issue to go away and for all of us to have a good time.

Christopher visibly brightens. "How small?"

"Like 3-1/2 inches."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. My girlfriend there will be able to verify."

And the matter was (finally) dropped.

***

A perk of being with the band is free entrance to the brewery and all-you-can-drink beer for the two hours the brewery is open. Paying guests are strictly limited to six drinks. This greatly enhanced both of our attitudes; Christopher announced I would be refilling his pint glass too.

We joined the group and to avoid any furthery jealousy, I always included unflattering details about my college buddies to Christopher.

"This is Guy," I would introduce. And as soon as Guy turned away, I'd whisper, "Guy tried to grow dreadlocks one year in school. His hair smelled so bad that we begged him to shower." This seemed to work keeping Christopher calm and okay with the realization that in this circle of friends, I was the only girl.

And maybe this was my bad, but when I introduced Christopher, I merely said, "This is Christopher," and did not explain that he was my boyfriend. I assumed my friends would draw the conclusion.

I had a rationale for doing this. The first was that upon my inquires, Christopher's long-time friends that don't like me don't know that I've returned to his life. So that's one reason I did that. The other was that I've never actually heard him say the word "girlfriend" in reference to me. I think both are valid reasons for me to not run around town and announce it if I'm going to be the only one doing so.

But when I headed to refill my or Christopher's pint glass, my friends obviously got curious enough to ask. And to be honest, I'm not sure what Christopher said. I only heard the tail end of how we met.

Everything was going smoothly until the brewery started ushering us out after the two hours. I was having issues standing still without having to overcorrect for balance; I was drunk. My guy friends decide to head to another bar, one that also served food to soak up some of the alcohol. I asked Christopher if he wanted to go along. I actually didn't care to because I wanted to go home and eat free Chinese and drink free beer.

To my surprise, Christopher wanted to go along. But as we're walking out of the brewery, Christopher whined, "But your friends think I'm your friend."

Without the haze of perversely named beer, I understand what he means by saying this. However, that night I was swimming in alcohol and could only put togther the pieces. And the pieces I knew were Christopher's friends don't know about me, I don't know what he told my guy friends about the nature of our relationship, and he's never said "girlfriend" but did just say "friend."

I whipped around and faced him and spoke assertively, "You need to decide—right now—if you're my friend or my boyfriend."

"What?" he reeled, justifiably alarmed.

I repeated myself.

"What do you--"

I cut him off. "No, you are not going to throw this back on me. You need to make this decision by yourself and you need to make it now."

I realized I just gave Christopher an out and I mentally scolded myself. But I've always been a little uneasy with how it seems to me leading all the time and him following. In my state, I was brave enough to know what exactly the truth is when I'm not leading.

"The first one."

"Whaaaaaat?" I half shrieked.

"What was the first one again?" he asked.

"Friend!"

"I mean, the second one!" he corrected. Jesus, he still couldn't just say it.

"Say it."

"Boyfriend," he quietly obliged.

"Now say 'girlfriend.'" By this time I had lightened up a little. However, I think the boy was still a little bit scared. And to be honest, I was a little surprised that this was the answer Christopher had chosen by himself.

"Girlfriend."

"Now use it in a sentence: 'You are my girlfriend.'" The power was beginning to feel good.

"You are my friend... who's a girl," he laughed.

The tension I created was gone and I broke into a fit of giggles as I punched him in the arm.

"You're my girlfriend!" he laughed as he rubbed his arm.

At the second bar we had a good time, and I think Christopher appreciated hanging out with the guys talking guy stuff. The friends of his that I keep mentioning have actually moved out of the state and only let Christopher know by e-mail. When he told me this, it sounded like the friendship kind of drifted apart when his 'best friend' and my old co-worker who introduced us married.

I don't want to hurt Christopher by writing this, but I get the feeling he doesn't have many guy friends that he sees regularly anymore. I think it's why his father calls him every night to check on him. I knew he's always been a bit of a loner, but it breaks my heart that the friends I knew he once had have moved on. So I think he was happy to spend time in front of people who were other than me.

To prove this, Christopher started doing impressions (he has some good ones) to make the boys laugh. He gave them his nickname even though I don't use it. And then we all made plans next week so Christopher could meet The German, another friend who was flying in town. Some of the boys have also moved into the city; we just haven't met up or realized we have all mostly relocated to the same area. So I ended up pleased, especially with the opportunity that he can make some friends and the fact that I finally got my wish and ended up snuggling with him on the couch.

I'm not sure why I freaked out on him the way I did. I'm choosing to blame the alcohol. But the old insecurities have been creeping back up into me and I've noticed. I'm just glad that Christopher's nature is to remain calm even when I'm acting... well... crazy.

Christmas Eve eve

Christmas Eve eve (that would be last Saturday for anyone counting), I drove up to school to see my bestest roommate and runner-up for the love of my life: Satchel. Satchel proved third time's a charm for living with men. Of course it helped that we split the rent and had our own bedrooms. And never had sex. Satchel is my platonic life partner and he was back in town and throwing a party.

I called Conor to let him know about the shindig and he was really excited about having me come up. He quickly offered me his spare bedroom and invited me beforehand for dinner.

"Caroline's cooking," he said.

What he didn't tell me was that they were having Caroline's family over to celebrate Christmas. I found myself at my ex boyfriend's Christmas celebration with his girlfriend's family. I don't know if they felt awkward or not, but I felt it was a new personal low for me. The worst part is that I kept thinking, he dumped me for this? Her family is so white trash: they wore camouflage to Christmas dinner and joked about who was in jail most recently. Caroline's mother won.

During Conor's tour of his new house, he pointed out the spare bedroom he made up for me and said, "Looks like my old apartment, doesn't it?" So I would be spending the night in a replica of Conor's old apartment. Yup, I am pathetic.

I told Conor we should take two cars to Satchel's party. The evening was such an emotional low that I didn't know I would come back and sleep in the bedroom next to Conor's and his live-in girlfriend. Additionally, if I didn't know that many people at Satchel's I would only stay a couple of hours before trucking it back to the city. But they insisted it would be alright and I got to pick up Caroline's brother on the way.

I walked in the door and screamed, "Love of my life!" while jumping into Satchel's arms. And immediately locked eyes with Brad, a boy who never called again after I threw up on him five years ago. Shit. It turned out I knew a lot of Satchel's friends and was immediately placed at the drinking game table with some very cute boys.

Satchel came over and put his hand on my shoulder. I looked at him and whispered, "Your friend David is cute. Very cute." I made eyes at David and Satchel and I laughed.

"Well he's single and graduated from school and is a very nice guy."

"Shit. Those are higher standards then I've had in the last three months." We laughed again.

I had been playing a drinking game for the past 45 minutes, so I didn't know how discreet I was, or if Satchel told David about my revelation, but when the cameras began flashing, I was in more than a few of his. As the night continued, there was ass grabbing and light spanking as we passed each other into the kitchen for more beer. Then he was two seats away from me at the drinking game table. Then he was next to me. Then his hand was on my knee.

I froze. I didn't know what to do next. It seemed like I've been on nothing but blind dates for the past several months and during that time, I've forgotten how to flirt. My instinct was to put my hand on top of his, but it seemed like a lame maneuver. I rested it there for a minute, squeezed, then pulled away. His hand remained on my knee. Good.

Conor called me into the kitchen. Caroline wants to go home. Tough. There's a cute boy putting his hand on my knee in the other room, I'm not leaving. This is exactly why I wanted to take two cars. Conor was afraid to tell Caroline that I wasn't ready to leave because he feared she would get angry with him. I brought up the last time I was in town with Nick, who he hadn't seen in two or three years. Caroline informed him that no more people were coming over to his house and then she locked him out of his room. Again Conor hadn't seen Satchel in two years and Caroline wanted them to go home.

Per Conor's request, I broke the news to Caroline that I wasn't ready to leave. "What about your brother? Can he pick you up?"

"No, he's drunk already," she snapped. I was taken aback at the tone of her voice.

"Well what about his friends? Can anyone come and get you?"

"No."

"Well, sorry, but I'm not leaving yet."

I turned back to the Boy Whose Hand is on My Knee. Behind me, I heard another girl ask Caroline what's wrong.

"My driver is off playing drinking games." Jesus Christ.

Five minutes had passed and Conor called me into the kitchen again. He wants to take my truck home. My truck. His girlfriend. Satchel jumped in saying David could drive me back to Conor's. He hollered down the hall to David, "Hey D, can you take Sarah back to her car later?"

"Sure."

I turned to Conor. "Conor, it's my truck."

"I know, I'm sorry. But she's mad at me now."

"She is being utterly ridiculous. When I've become stranded at parties, I've always called someone or walked. Or slept it off on the couch. Or a bedroom. Or in the back seat of your car." Conor laughed. I had done the latter the past Cinco de Mayo while he was drinking in a hotel with Caroline. "Conor," I reached up and brushed his hair back, "Are you happy? I mean with Caroline?"

"We just moved in together." He avoided answering my question. Conor cannot be alone. He is the neediest boy I've ever met. He used to call at 4 AM and I'd come over and find him passed out on his living room floor next to a shot glass and an empty bottle of whisky. At the time I had mistaken it for liking me and needing me, but with time I realized he just couldn't be alone. Conor will stick a relationship out, even if it's bad, unless he can lily hop into another relationship. Well, that or he really does like her and doesn't want to tell me.

He ran his hand under my chin and cupped it, " I love you."

"I love you too, Conor." I leaned in to embrace him and we kissed lightly.

"I should have told you that years ago." I hate that all my movie moments are with Conor. I wish that they were with someone who actually wants me, not someone who's making sure he's still desirable.

I shoved my car keys in his hand. "Yes, you should have," and I walked out of the kitchen and headed back to my drinking game, where I would now be losing intentionally.

Conor

Nick and I are sitting on one of Conor's roommate's beds. It's 4:30 AM and we're back at school visiting old friends. The party had broken up by now, but Conor is hanging out with us because his girlfriend locked him out of his room.

I yawn, "Sleep with us, Conor. You can sleep in the middle. You know you want to sleep with Nick after all these years. It'll be like a burrito."

Conor clicks on a zombie website. "No that's ok."

"Well what are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet." He gets up and stretches and then leans over Nick, "She's really good, you know. Especially when she plays with your balls."

I had been on the receiving end of sex jokes all night. Nick and I hadn't even kissed, but everyone knew what was going to happen. Conor's graphic description mortified me and I grab a pillow and beat him with it. "We're not friends anymore!" I scream. I chase after him and beat him with the pillow until he runs out of the room.

Girlfriends, Part 2

Conor had his head in the fridge and grabbed another beer. "Hey, que Sarah Sarah!" he called out. He's been calling me that for years. "Come sit."

It felt late. A few people were strumming on guitars. A few were asleep, including Conor's girlfriend. I introduced them when Conor and I were dating. Conor and I listened to the guitars for a few minutes. He looked over at Caroline sleeping on the couch and turned back to look at me.

"I have a secret to tell you."

I looked from Caroline to him, "Omigod, you're getting engaged."

"No!"

I gasped, "You got her pregnant! You're having a baby!"

"No! I can't tell you here."

"I wanna know."

He got up and gestured for me to follow. We went into his other roommate's bedroom. He told me to close the door and I did.

"Caroline has been getting mad at me for no reason a lot lately."

"Yeah, well girls do that when they're unhappy about something. So what's your secret?"

"You don't know it already?" He began to look uncomfortable.

"No," I nervously laughed.

"I've told you this before." He looked even more embarrassed.

I thought about it for a minute. A couple of years ago, Conor got drunk and told me he loved me. He said he loved me when we were together and that he still did. That was before Caroline. I didn't know for sure if this was what he was going to tell me or not, so I decided to play dumb. Besides, I liked watching him squirm.

Conor got up from where we were sitting and went over to his roommate's computer. He clicked around for a minute and Blue October's "Hate Me" began to play.

"This song reminds me of you. I can't listen to it without thinking of you. It's the type of music you used to listen to while we were together."

"I do like this song."

"How long ago did we date?"

I really had to think about it, "Four years ago, I think. I was 21 and you were 23."

"That sounds about right. Four years. It's been four years." He began laughing and covered his face up. "You know, the only reason we're not still together is because we both belonged in straitjackets during that period in our lives."

While I didn't exactly agree with the way he put it-- that I belonged in a straitjacket-- I did have to agree that I wasn't a very stable person back then. I had just gotten out of a very serious relationship. Conor introduced me to whisky and pot, neither of which I've had before. He and I had dreams back then. I was going to move to NYC that August and work at one of the eight publishing houses up there. Conor was... I don't remember his dream anymore, only that he had one. Those were the best days of my life. In photo albums, it's the period where I look the happiest.

"Hate Me" ended and I heard Bryan singing one of his songs through the bedroom door. I liked it.

"Ugh, I hate it when Bryan sings!" growled Conor. "He's almost deaf and you can totally tell. That better not be my guitar he's playing!"

"You know it is."

Conor huffed and sank lower, "I know."

"So what's your secret?"

"You already know it!"

"No I don't!"

"I told you and you were so happy!"

"I don't remember!"

"I can't believe you forgot."

"What is it?"

Conor was squirming so hard right now. He was playing with a piece of chain maille and had taken it off his head and covered his face with it.

Here it goes. This is when Conor tells me he still loves me. I could never be with him again, but I need to hear this. After Nick, Bryan, Christopher, Andy, and BDB, I need to hear this. I need to know there is hope for me.

"Que Sarah Sarah," Conor sighed into the chain maille, "You gave the best head I ever had."

If I could make things like this up, I'd quit my job immediately and would start writing novels.

I jumped up. "Are you serious?" I screamed. "That's it?! That's why you pulled me in here!?"

"It's been four years!" he half-laughed. "I can't forget you. You were the best."

I pointed at the closed door. "You have a girlfriend in there!"

"I know! I know!" He fell over with his face pressed into the couch where I used to be sitting. "She's not as good as you."

"Well I could have told you that, Conor." I stomped out of the bedroom.

Conor followed me out, calling after me, "I think we can be together forever, Sarah! We're like Jerry and Elaine, only not fictional!"

The party was mostly broken up by now. Caroline was nowhere to be found. I stepped outside to see if I could see her truck; it was not there. In the kitchen Bryan and a boy I went to school with leaned against the counter and were in a debate on new grammar rules. It was late and I wanted my leaky apartment. I left.

An exercise in mortification

As usual, I didn't hear from Christopher all week. I went ahead and made plans and thought I could somehow squeeze him in. Friday I went to a show and had a fabulous time. Saturday I was invited to a house-warming party back at school. I didn't mind too much that he didn't call because I had those plans. I can only imagine how I would have felt if I didn't. Saturday night I was with my college buddies and partook in my college behaviors, which included a keg and vodka- lots of vodka. I never touch the stuff unless I'm with them.

"You know, other people don't drink as much as we do," I slurred to Conor, who was pouring me another shot.

"No shit, Sarah. You learned your drinking from me and I'm Irish."

It's true. The first couple of months after I met Conor, I spent the majority of most nights with my head in a toilet. My tolerance is higher than most boys since then and I rarely get drunkity drunk drunk. Ok so maybe 3 times this year, but before that I would go months and months without it.

Conor and I finished our bottle of vodka and we had begun working on the keg when I pulled out my phone. Never a good idea. I need to learn to leave it in the car or out of my range. Called Christopher. He didn't answer. Called him twice more within 10 minutes. Then I decided to leave him a message. (Oh God, this is so embarrassing.)

Completely serious and slightly tipping over: "Hey Christopher, this is Sarah. This is an official booty call. This is not an alert of the emergency broadcasting system. This is the real thing. I'm going to need you. Stat."

Conor just stared at me open mouthed with the keg nozzle drooping from his hands.

The next morning I looked at my phone log on my cell phone. Oh my God. At least he was the only person I called. And now I won't have to worry about him calling ever again.

Sure enough, Sunday night Christopher phones. He was in Birmingham all weekend visiting friends. He sounded happy to hear from me and kept asking who I was with at all times, whether or not I had dated him, if I would ever consider dating him, etc. The questioning made me really uncomfortable until I realized that he was checking up on me. If he was asking, he obviously cares if I'm with other people or not.

Christopher: So you didn't get naked this weekend?
Sarah: Nope.(Pauses) Um...
Christopher: What?
Sarah: Did you get my message last night?
Christopher: Nope. Did you leave one?
Sarah: (sighs with relief) Um, yeah but it wasn't important.
Christopher: What did it say?
Sarah: Nothing really, I was just, um, calling to see where you were.
Christopher: Oh, ok. (Pauses) So do you want to come over?
Sarah: Sure, let me just grab some work clothes for tomorrow and I'll be on my way.
Christopher: Hey, wear something sexy. I'm going to need you. Stat.

Oh God.

Don't worry, I feel guilty about this too

I wish I never called him. I always forget that when I call him, I actually feel worse afterwards instead of better. I call him and my heart beats faster when the phone is ringing. I get a high. Then after 6 rings his voicemail picks up and I just emotionally crash. Now he knows I called and he doesn't want to talk to me. Now I know this too.

I used to date this Catholic named Conor and the same thing happened. We would have sex and the sex was okay, just okay but enough to feel good, and every time afterwards he'd roll over and say, "We shouldn't have done this, it's a sin." Crash. Every time. I should have been smart enough not to sleep with him once I knew this. He broke up with me the same way: he orgasms and rolls over, "We shouldn't have done this, it's a sin and we're just friends, right?"

Now that I had broken the lines of silence, I felt this urge that I shouldn't give up until I reached him. This morning I was thinking about showing up at his work. He's an outside sales rep and he travels to different cities each day and goes to their businesses. He always works the same city on Fridays. I would show up and wait in the parking lot at whatever business he was at, which would be found by me driving around the city and checking the lots for his car. The type if business he specializes in are always lumped on the same street so stalking value can be held at a minimum. The idea made me feel good. At one point this morning I actually smiled. It felt weird and I didn't know what was different until I realized it had been a really long time since I smiled. I felt strange smiling.

I figured any idea that could make me feel better was worth following through. I had purpose this morning. I got up, showered, got dressed, put on make-up and, heaven-forbid, perfume. I didn't cry once. I got in the car, thought of an excuse to be in the area, and drove an hour to the city.

Here's how it would work: I would be at his car when he came out of the building and he would look at me and I would smile and say, "Let's get some lunch." I would tell him how unfair he's been and he would tell me what's really bothering him. I would talk him through it and he would feel better. We wouldn't immediately get back together, but it would get the ball rolling.

I drove up and down that fucking street for an hour and a half and pulled into every fucking business and didn't see his fucking car once. I was worried that because he didn't go to that city last Friday, maybe he went on Monday and didn't need to go again this week. I hadn't spoken to him so I had no idea of his schedule. I didn't want to say, "Hey I'm here, let's meet for lunch," because if he chose not to respond, he might be on to me and change his schedule. If that happened then I couldn't perform this plan again, because this one was an obvious failure.

I settled for, "Hey I'm not far from you, let's do lunch." I sent it as a text message. This way, he wouldn't know that I was actually there. Finally, he finally responded that he was too busy. But I would bet any money that he wasn't even there yet when I was there. There was no way. Lazy Ass was probably not even working yet. This kinda relieves me should I try it again.

So I sobbed and drove home. And got stuck in Friday afternoon traffic. Serves me right. It takes me under an hour to get there, but an hour and forty to get home. I freaking deserved it. Fucking trip cost me $12 in gas. I'm sobbing and devastated. I get home and my mom knows I've been out because she can smell perfume. I tell her the story (in much less detail in between mumbles and sobs) and she begins to make fun of me.

Like the phone calls, like the sex with the Catholic, I feel worse now that I tried it and failed. I am glad, however, he even responded to my text. But I have cried it out of me and am resigned to the whole idea of contacting him.