I met an eighteen-year-old girl named Ashley at my secondary job a few months ago. Her sister, Chelsea, who also worked with me at the time, stole a twenty dollar bill from my locker during my first day on the job. I’m positive that Chelsea was the one that stole it, though how I’m positive isn’t as important to mention as the fact that any c-h-e-l-s-e-a retains a substantially lesser amount of cool than any c-h-e-l-s-i.
Thankfully, soon after the evil c-h-e-l-s-e-a stole my hard earned cash, she quit. But assuming that bad habits like that ran in the family, I wasn’t too keen on Ashley for quite a while. However, time passed and several weeks ago her tiny little doe-eyed blondeness won me over (because it isn’t her fault that her sister is white trash) and I graced her with dialogue. As it turns out Ashley is an awesome worker, and I’ll even go as far as to say that I enjoyed it when we were scheduled together. That’s “enjoyed” with an “e-d” because the Friday before Christmas two police men walked into our place of business and arrested little Ashley because she missed a hearing regarding her two counts of theft, one of forgery, two of breaking an entering, and I haven’t seen her since.
That’s one example of how my intuition when it comes to filtering the good from the bad is failing me. (The other is, of course, falling head over heels for an adulterer, but I’ll get to that in a second.) On the bright side, she left her CDs behind and today I was listening to one at work when an old song called Crazy Over You by 112 came on. I started smiling because it reminded me of my younger and dumber high school self.
My very first very real boyfriend and I coincidentally started going out on January 12 (112, get it?) during my sophomore year of high school, and because I was a huge hunk of cheesy, sappy, romanticy grossness, I used to fall asleep to the melodramatic love songs of 112 while I thought about how perfect my relationship was and what color my bridesmaids would wear. We broke up, naturally, and he’s currently a military man complete with a child and a wife who forbids him to speak to me, but while I was listening to 112 today, I couldn’t help but feel a little happy. One of the reasons I love music so much is because it has the power to strip away all the bad things in my memory, and this enables me to recall the exact reasons (or at least replicate some of the emotion that I once felt) for things I did that in retrospect, seem a little stupid. Most of the time when I think of this ex, all that comes to mind is the way the relationship turned out. It’s not that I wish I could be with him again (not even if he was the last man on Earth) it’s just that it’s so awkward now. I’m happy for him, but I think if I saw him or any of his immediate family members on the street, I’d probably wish I could disappear.
A primary reason for our break up was that we were/are just too different. He desires a life of coming home and relaxing by the fire with his cup of hot chocolate, his slippers, his dog and The Bible. Me? I like cats and I want to lie on the floor in front of the TV with my TiVo remote, a down blanket, a bottle of ice cold beer and, if I’m lucky enough to find any, I’ll have a pair of clean socks on as well. I think his family noticed our incompatibility before we did; it’s either that or they hated my guts because they got the vibe that I was a dumb tramp whore. In any case, they weren’t afraid to make it apparent that I was not their cup of tea. But back then I was too happy to care, and before any of our differences were realized, my boyfriend and I were very much in love with each other. 112 helped me to remember that love today, and now I’ll admit that I couldn’t have asked for a better first relationship.
Present day: I wonder if I’ll ever be able to think about my ex relationship with Cheater Boy and not have to fight the urge to vomit or slit my wrists. I hate admitting it, but he’s really got a hold on me.
I had an argument with my father the other day, and this is important to mention because the last time I argued with my father was, oh, never. My parents’ divorce back when I was eight caused a weird rift between my dad and I because of the custody results (my brother stayed with my father and I moved out with my mom) and he never really got to have a say in the way I was raised. Earlier this week all of his pent up frustration over our lack of a good father/daughter relationship exploded, and I was subjected to three hours of crying and an unloading of emotional rants that I’m sure were backed with love, no matter how awful or desperate they sounded at the time. One of the things that got me most is that he brought up the divorce in a way that made it sound like it had just happened, even though it was well over a decade ago and my mom has been remarried twice since. I now understand that my poor father has been bitter toward my mother this whole time because he still feels like it could’ve worked out. Even though I know better, even though my brother knows better, even though anyone who knows both of my parents KNOWS better, my dear dad thinks that if she had just taken his advice, that if they had gone to counseling, their marriage would have been saved and they’d be old fogies together. I don’t know whether to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of that, or to cry because of how badly deluded he is.
What’s scarier (and the part that ties all of this together) is that just before the cataclysmic argument with my dad I had a conversation with Cheater Boy and I told him that I’m sad because I feel like we could have worked out if we had done things differently. I told him in a small, earnest voice because I was desperate for him to feel what I was feeling at that moment. I wanted him to believe with me that when things that were once amazing crash and burn, that it’s possible to rebuild them and get back to that original amazing-ness.
The sudden realization that I am becoming my father hit me like a truck, and scared the shit out of me.
I'm not really phased by my poor judgement of Ashley because I'm sure she's actually a good person. I don't feel the need to fix anything when it comes to her because I simply never cared enough in the first place, you know? But this whole ex-factor thing is so frustrating. I don't want to be bitter about this breakup ten years from now, so yesterday morning I deleted Cheater Boy from my social networks. This way I won't have to see all of his new slutty friends/photos and it will be easier for me to just forget until there comes a time when remembering it is pleasant instead of painful. I know you’re probably rolling your eyes right now and thinking, wow, all of this ranting just to conclude that he’s no longer in her extended network?! but seriously guys, as pathetic as it sounds, that’s like, HUGE in my world. Show a little r-e-s-p-e-c-t, OK? I'll take it in the form of clicks on my AdSense column over there on the left. Thanks.