In my early 20s, I returned to live with my mother for a couple months awaiting a new apartment opportunity back on the west side o’ town. After enduring a horrendous case of separation anxiety from my cat Spidey running away on me while staying with the moms, this asshat from junior college that kept me warm and fuzzy for a couple weeks thought it a wonderful gift by taking me to the Cleveland APL to pick out a new kitty for myself. (Sweet, right?) Well, no surprise when it comes for signatures on the adoption papers that my “gift” ended up being a “treat to myself.” See, his grande idea was to get me attached to a kitten (somehow associated the attachment to him??), yet have ME pay for any and all adoption fees… and a new litter box… and food… and, well, you get the gist of Nibbles, the eternal biting-behind-the-knee cat.
The essential “ends” to our mock-coupledom was result of heading to an afterhours Pimps and Hos party together at U4ia (you all remember those days, right? Aging myself a bit, perhaps). Needless to say, I was neither the “pimp” or the “ho” as I walked to the patio to find my arch nemesis from junior college (Hi, Missy!) riding Sir Cat Man in the outdoor hot tub. This chick had just been WAITING for the right moment to “get me back” and some prior non-incident involving an old joint acquaintance of ours. Que sera, sera. See, life is much better for me now and I can speak of such things. Ooh, also I decided to not make a scene, but just left the club. He didn’t notice I was MIA until around noon the next day where I proceeded to hang up on him when he called. “What….” *click*
Oh, did I also mention this model-cum-actor wannabe casually mentioned that he had been on The Tonight Show? Interesting, right? Not exactly. Come to find out a few weeks later… he was in the audience.
*May or may not be his true identity. Who cares about the asshole anyway?
