The Ex Files

I was being chased by a man who could create fire with the snap of his fingers.  No matter where I ran, he would follow, sadistically smiling as he set my world aflame. 

As he pursued, I ran...sometimes stumbled...sometimes fell...

Soon tiring from his pursuit,  I resigned to being burned alive...and curling my knees close to my chest...I sang...AMAZING GRACE. 

In my hour of need...in panic...I closed my eyes and sang at the top of my lungs. 

AMAZING GRACE.

The fire subsided and I woke with my heart beating fast, droplets of sweat formulating at the midpoint of my temple, and tears filling the corners of my eyes. 

Rolling over, I  reached for my phone, dialing the first few numbers of my ex, the person who  - in the twilight hours...1:28am...2:34am...4:14am... - had whispered me back to slumber: "Babe, go back to sleep." "Sweetie, is everything okay?"  "Love you Bree, don't worry.  It was just a dream."


But, it wasn't just a dream...

It was my first nightmare without him...and my first nightmare as a single woman....

Being single and dating in DC had been...okay....A Long Walk had started to call me at least twice a week, even though he still preferred to text constantly.  And, Big Chocolate was still attempting to unlock a desire to date him using his pretty, shitty key...

However...

In those quiet moments I could still remember the deepness of my ex's voice, the slight powdery smell of his skin,  the softness of the inside of his lips, the way it felt to turn over and pull his body close to mine, or wake up with my fingers lightly grazing the small curly hairs of his chest.

I still missed him...

Sometimes I still wanted us back together...

And I had to ask myself, in my persistence to enter the dating world while simultaneously attempting to heal...

Had I allowed the proper time to nurture the wound of my still broken heart?

In other words, how could I learn to miss someone in my present...if I was still missing someone from my past?

And...I was missing him...

Badly...

I was missing him in the first quiet moments of the morning hours, in those last few moments right before I fell asleep, and on nights like these when a nightmare reminded me that sleeping alone was not the exception but now the rule...

I never finished dialing his phone number that night.

After all, over is over is over is over.

He was no longer mine.  My dreams were no longer a concern of his.

I prayed for grace that night...relief from the fear I had to shut my eyes again...but deep in the recesses of my mind all I wanted to hear was the sweet, sweet sound of someone's voice who was now a difficult but deeply missed part of my past...

Let's Talk About Text

Cinco de Mayo marks the day when Mexicans unexpectedly defeated the French in a battle over territory and a misunderstanding.  This victory was of particular note, partly because the French had more troops, more technology, and more training.  The Mexicans - however - had conviction...and they used this to pursue a unexpected victory, surprising everyone but themselves...

On this holiday, I was fighting a small war of my own. 

A Long Walk and I had been texting almost daily, and I do mean "just" texting. 

I would wake up to a cute little message from him:  "GOOD MORNIN' BREE-BREE."  Then spend a full 8 hours communicating with him in a series of LOLs, LMBOs, OMGs, and BRBs at work.  After quitting time - without fail - Long Walk would text a WADDUP BREE-BREE, in which I would reply later via gchat.  This would ultimately lead to another few hours long conversation littered with SMHs, J/Ks and a series of emoticons :-) :-( :-? :-/

No matter how many times I called to hear his voice, and to experience the pleasant enjoyment of actually hearing the sound behind a LOL, he would not answer....

Instead I would get his voicemail...

WTF?

Who did Long Walk think he was, anyway? 

A walking version of the Motorola Qwerty Board!

Against my better judgment,  I called him and I left a long, acronym free message demanding he call me back, as in (use the phone), as in (channel Alexander Graham Bell), as in (open your God-given mouth) and put away his fingers and talk to me...

Minutes later I received a text....WADDUP BREE BREE!

SMH!

Chat-induced, text-crazed, electronically-challenged bad, bad, bad words exploded out of my mouth...I couldn't understand why A Long Walk preferred to communicate in person or via a computer...

I wondered...

In the age of tweeting, Facebook updates, Myspace pages, Gchat, MSN messenger, BBM Chatting and Texting, had the simple art of verbal communication been lost?

I decided to unwind over a margarita on the rocks at Alero - a local Mexican restaurant in DC - with my girl, Flower Child.

Hundreds of young, inebriated (read: drunk), young professionals had descended into the venue that night, eager to be one of the lucky few to get a free taco or two.  Because of the festive spirit and the complimentary food, it's wasn't uncommon to see 250lb. dudes in a Gucci Suits wearing Movado watches, elbowing petite blondes out of the way in order to get a few 4 inch chicken tacos.

Add 1/2 price margaritas...and

Es un Partido! (It was a party)

When I arrived, Flower Child was at the bar chatting it up with several guys, hustling them for a free drink. Flower Child never pays for anything.  She greeted me with an air kiss on both cheeks while casually winking at two men that were checking us out.

"What about Baldy (her current love interest)?" I whispered.

"Baldy who?"  She shoved me behind her, beckoning the two gentleman to come over.

While she jointly entertained them, I stepped away to get a few tacos (thank God there seemed to be a few left)...and checked my phone...

Long Walk: R U MAD @ ME BREE BREE

To which I replied: Y CAN'T U CALL?

I elbowed a few eager and starved looking young professionals out of the way, and returned to where Flower Child was, having successfully secured 6 tacos on a plate. 

It wasn't even 12 seconds before the short, round, dimple-cheeked guy that Flower Child was not cooing to approached.  He reminded me of the Pillsbury Doughboy.

We exchanged introductions, before I felt my phone vibrate:

Long Walk: DONT B MAD BREE, U KNO I'M NOT A FONE PERSON. BUT I LIKE U. DONT ACT LIKE WE DONT TLK. WE DO!

Frustrated, I turned my attention back to Pillsbury.  He was talking about his long day, how he had worked hard, how he had missed lunch, while casting desperate eyes at my taco plate.  I shoved one in my mouth to let him know the plate was still there.  My phone vibrated again:

Long Walk:  I TLK TO U MORE THAN N E ONE ELSE. DONT BE MAD. WRK WITH ME BREE!

I shoved the phone deeper into my pocket, and looked at Pillsbury.  He wasn't that bad looking.  He had all his teeth, pretty skin, and hungry-looking little eyes.  I decided to push the taco plate between us.  Want One? I asked... Pillsbury's little pudgy fingers dived into the plate scooping up two tacos in a single grasp.

Impressive.  At least, I thought so?  As I watched him attempt a flirtatious smile, with a large amount of lettuce and taco sauce dripping down his cheek, I felt my phone vibrate again...

Long Walk: I TLK 2 U 8HRS @ WORK, 2HRS @ HOME, 1HR B/T WORK & HOME. THATS 11HRS A DAY.  I TLK 2 U MORE N E ONE ELSE.  LETS COMPROMISE.

So, Long Walk could add whole numbers.  I was proud of him, but wasn't convinced.

I told Pillsbury, I would give him another taco, if he gave me advice about my "friend" who was having a texting issue with a guy she kinda liked.  I could almost see the the Taco Bell dog materialize out of nowhere barking "Si, Si"...."Yes, Yes."  Shoving the plate at him once more, I quickly told my story while he bit, chewed and swallowed.  His advice was simple: tell him what I like, and agree to compromise.  He said eleven hours was a long time to be talking to one chick each day.

I grabbed my phone and typed:  I LIKE THE PHONE.  YOU LIKE TO TEXT.  LETS COMPROMISE 2NITE.  CALL ME!

The phone buzzed back immediately.

It was Long Walk: CALL YOU 2NITE.  9PM.

Victory!  I turned around to hug Pillsburry and poke him in his cute, little round stomach.  But Doughboy was gone, along with my taco plate!

SMH

I looked over at Flower Child, who being drinkLESS, had resorted to sharing the margarita of the gentleman she was pressed up against, casually taking long, leisurely sips each time he turned around to look for Pillsbury. 

It was getting late, closer to 9PM.  I wanted to be home to get this call.

My phone buzzed...


A Long Walk:  CANT WAIT 2 TALK @ 9 :-) MISS YOU, BREE, BREE! THINKING ABOUT U, 2!

I smiled, totally recognizing the odds had been against me.  A Long Walk had been right, he had exhausted all forms of electronic communication to talk to me daily: Facebook, GChat, Text Message, etc.  Logically, his argument made sense;  there were more non-verbal ways to communicate than verbal.  But I knew what I wanted, a man who would appreciate hearing the sound of my voice every day....

Technically, I had won this battle...

But I was still willing to offer a peace treaty...

I texted him back:  THX 4 THINKING ABOUT ME, TLK TO U SOON :-)

In Case of Emergency!

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My Saturday morning began like most, single women...lounging on my couch, in an oversized t-shirt flipping between E! and Bravo trying to catch the latest episode of True Hollywood Story or Real Housewives.  Vague thoughts of doing laundry and vacuuming scrubbed through my head as I settled deeper into the crevices of my couch. So, this is what being totally satiated feels like...

Then, I a gray spot move in my peripheral vision...

I thought for a moment, that the power of my lazy mind was willing my floor to clean itself...

Oh Bliss....Simple Bliss...A self-cleaning apartment....

Then the gray spot moved again...I turned my head, only to catch the tail end of Mickey scurry around the corner of my living room closet!

OH

MY

GOSH

Was that a mouse?

Was that a f**** mouse!!! 
(side note: I only reserve this word for the most dire situations)

I leaped off my couch, grabbing one knee-high boot, a cabbage-patch bedroom slipper, black lace bra (don't ask) and  my cell phone...ran out of my door....screaming the whole way down the hall...

THERE'S A MOUSE....IN MY HOUSE!  THERE'S A MOUSE...IN MY HOUSE!!

THERE'S A MOUSE...IN...MY...HOUSE!

My flamboyant gay neighbor delicately peaked his head outside his door, and after peering at me a through mascara-encased queer eye...shut the door!

I cursed!  Clearly he was hoping for a really hott, really available....straight guy!

I had to think!  I started scrolling through my phone book.  Mom (lived in Topeka - NO!), Ex Boyfriend (probably boning some chick - NO), My Girlfriends (would probably be just as scared as me - NO!)....so "in (this) case of emergency" I had to call my good male friend, Andrew!

......

In the dating world, every woman has an Andrew...   

...he's the shopping partner (even though he's straight), a shoulder to cry on (without minding the make-up streaks), an extra pair of hands around the house (including helping with mani's and pedi's), a Dr. Phil when you need advice...the resident GUY FRIEND!

 ...he's a good guy....and always available when the boyfriend leaves, the girlfriend flakes...or

IN CASE OF EMERGENCY....

So, I called Andrew...and after mumbling that it was 6:00am in the morning, he was hungover, was I really serious, he finally agreed to come over...

Hours later (okay really it was minutes) I was forced to return into the mouse hole that was now my place...and wait for Andrew on the top of my dining room table, holding my Raid Roach & Ant spray...

but it was okay...no really, it was okay...because Andrew was on his way....

"What a friend we have in those who call at 6am?"

"A friend indeed, is a friend in need!"

"Friends are like buses, you can't catch one every minute."

Okay, so I was horrible at friendship quotes...but I had to admit Andrew was a good one to meet me at 6:00 am to calm my rodent-inspired fears.

When Andrew got there.  He diligently searched every inch of my apartment, setting down mouse traps he had brought along...while I resumed by post back on top of the dining room table sharing Andrew-inspired friendship quotes for encouragement...

"If a friend falls in the forest and no one is around to hear, does he make a sound...."

"Is it better to have friended, than to never have friended at all." 

My quotes were getting better....I think.


After two hours...lack of new quoting material....and mouseless...Andrew offered to have me spend the night over his place in order to give Mickey a chance to get caught in one of the 50-eleven traps in my house.

YES!

Andrew cooked us dinner, and we sat and chatted.  It was just like having girl-talk, except he didn't have breasts.  We giggled about some of the awful dates we had been on, sipped on apple-flavored martinis with a cherry in the middle, shared a pint of raspberry sorbet (YUM), and watched the Devil Wears Prada!

When it was time to go to bed, I put on my doo-rag, settled on the couch, and waved him good-bye as he went into his bedroom and closed the door.

Somewhere between the butcrack of down and the 19 and half minutes after midnight, I heard a sound.

Then I felt a warm, soft object touch my waist and slowly begin moving upward.

Had Mickey followed me over to Andrew's house?

I jumped off the couch, and there was Andrew standing there, looming over the couch in his boxers, grinning like those axe murders in horror films... right before they behead unsuspecting girl.

Well, maybe not!  Don't blame me.  I don't have good night vision.

"What the hell are you doing, Andrew?" I screamed.

"I just thought I'd come out here and check on you," he said.

WTF!

"You're checking on me by trying to grab a handful of boob!  What is really going on here?"

"It's my house, Bree!  You're on my couch.  I thought I'd see what's up?"

I snatched up a pillow from the floor and pitched it at his head..

"Take me home!  Right Now!  You are totally out of line for this!! My boobs are none of your concern.  We are just friends!"

Just friends!

Weren't we just friends?

On the silent ride back home to my apartment, I vaguely listened as Andrew apologized over and over and over again for "the incident."  He offered to come upstairs, but a quick and evil glare solved that.

As I walked VERY, VERY, VERY slowly back to my place, terrified to spend the night alone with Mickey, I wondered....

Was Andrew really my boy friend, or guy who was secretly hedging his bets to become boyfriend?

When I opened the door to my place, I saw Mickey had been caught in the trap.

Instead of dialing mom, the ex, or Andrew the "boob-grabber", I decided to move past my "pull-up stage," put on my "I'm a grown a** woman" face, and dispose of it.

"Friends are like buses, you can't catch one every minute."

Or, however that saying goes....

I had to remember that - in myself - I could always find that friend I "needed"...even at 6am...and sometimes even IN CASE OF EMERGENCY.