EX Marks the Spot
I’m going to be balls-out bold and state my usual Harry Met Sally position: Ex’s are ex’s for a reason. If I wanted to be your buddy, we’d probably still be dating. Yes, I’m great, get over it. Move on with your life. Send me a Christmas card and tell me all about it.
R___, this blog’s for you. Or I should say, you set me off New Year’s Day, and this is an open appeal to all men to stop waxing nostalgic about their past loves. R_____ emailed me New Year’s Day to inform me that when my name is Googled, Bunger School of Technology comes up. I consider this a lame excuse to instigate contact and kind of boarders on stalk-y, especially when he didn’t even say “happy new year.” When I replied to R___’s email and asked him if he Googled all his ex-girlfriends, his response was “Hey can I help if you are so unforgettable ala [sic] Nat King Cole.” Oh yeah? I bet your girlfriend of two years would like to know that. Stop calling. Stop emailing me numerous times a month. Please go love your girlfriend.
Last month I cut off my ex, the one that departed in May to join the circus. Until November, there were daily emails and/or IMs spattered with phone calls. This excessive contact was tolerable except 90 percent of the conversation was actually his monologue. I felt sorry for him—he was in the circus and lonely. But, surely there was a circus monkey that could listen to him talk about himself? This was more like a nuisance than a friendship. Please go enjoy the greatest show on earth.
Guys, the backdoor is locked and the light is off. Don’t come around. I’ve been too nice in the past, but I’ve just enacted a Zero Tolerance policy. Love the one you are with. Look forward, not backward. You’ve made your bed, and I’m no longer lying in it.
Deal with it.
